


Are We Having Fun Yet?

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 179,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Katria Trevelyan, whose only combat specialization is sarcasm, has to learn to get along with the more serious members of the Inquisition. She even begins to tolerate Cullen. Until she's in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

All she could think of in Haven was how badly she wanted to escape. 

Katria was used to passing through large towns in Ferelden and the Free Marches, so it wasn’t the volume of people here that bothered her—it was the people themselves. The way they stared, and then whispered, the way some of them said “Your Worship” or “Herald” and expected her to turn her attention to them. Her name was Katria. Not even Katria Trevelyan; she had been just Katria for a solid decade, been the sort of person no one noticed for a decade. And now she was what? The savior of Thedas? Like it even deserved to be saved? 

Katria rubbed her fingers against the spot on her forehead where all her headaches originated. And this whole situation certainly counted as one big headache. As she sat in that position, she tilted her left hand up to look at the mark there. 

“Fuck.”

She sat back in the chair in her cabin and cursed again. One of the healers, Adan, had told her about how extra guards had been stationed outside her room to prevent anymore attempts on her life. Because in addition to those who thought she was worthy of worship, there were also those who thought she was responsible for the death of Divine Justinia. Which she wasn’t.

The door behind her swung open with a creak and sent cold air rushing into the room. “M-My Lady Herald?”

Katria turned her head, frowning. When she saw a small elf standing in the threshold wringing his hands, she tried to make her expression less hostile. She had already frightened this kid before, and she may have felt a little guilt for that. “Katria. And yes?”

“Lady Cassandra would like you to meet her in the Chantry,” he explained.

“Why?” she asked, turning her body to face him.

“I-I don’t know why,” he said. “But s-she did say-”

“At once, yes, I can imagine,” Katria grumbled, waving her hand in dismissal. She stood and grabbed her weathered jacket from the table. “Impatient lady, that Seeker. A little terrifying too.”

The boy turned bright red and gave a small bow before exiting the room. 

“A trait she and I apparently share,” Katria said to herself, soothing her hand over the collar of her jacket. She slipped through the ajar door, walking with her eyes glued to the ground until she arrived at the Chantry. 

When Katria reached the heavy wooden doors, she pushed one open with her shoulder. Cassandra was waiting for her, tapping her foot again the floor.

“Come with me.” 

Cassandra started walking to the door at the end of the hallway before she could reply. Katria hurried after her with a sigh. 

Cassandra glanced over. “Is your mark troubling you?”

Katria inspected her hand. “It is very troubling. But does it hurt? Not really.” 

“The important thing is that the Breach is now stabilized. With enough power, we might be able to close it.”

Katria snorted. “Right. Because what harm can there be in powering up something we barely understand?”

Cassandra raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “Hold on to that sense of humor.”

She stepped through the door at end of the hall, where she had earlier witnessed the heated dialogue between Cassandra and Chancellor Roderick. “You will regret saying that later.”

Katria lost her smirk when she felt three pairs of curious eyes on her. She cleared her throat and reached her hand inside her jacket, wrapping her palm around the dagger tucked there. The feeling of the familiar leather calmed her only a little. She recognized two of the faces in the room—the red head and the Templar with the ostentatious armor. Or was ridiculous a better word? 

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra said.

The man nodded towards her. “It was only for a moment in the field. I’m pleased you survived.”

Pleased she survived? If she was really meant to be the savior of Thedas, pleased is not the word she would have used.

Katria raised her hand briefly in greeting. “I remember you. The Templar.”

He furrowed his brow. “How did you know I was Templar?” 

She swallowed a laugh. “How much time do you have?” 

Cassandra sighed, apparently no longer impressed with her humor. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” 

A dark haired woman with an intricate braid and a fairly lavish outfit smiled at her. “I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” 

Before Katria could make a comment, Cassandra pointed out the hooded woman standing closest to them. “And of course you know Sister Leliana.” 

“My position here involves a degree of-”

Cassandra turned to look at her. “She is our spymaster.” 

Leliana smiled thinly. “Yes, tactfully put, Cassandra.” 

“That’s the word I would use too,” Katria said, clearing her throat as her hands dropped to her side. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you all, but I’ve been accused of mass murder enough today to be done with niceties. So what is it you need from me?” 

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “None of us think you are responsible for the events at the Conclave,” she huffed. 

“Anymore,” Katria interjected.

Leliana gave her a calculating stare, her lips pressed in a thin line. Katria wondered if the disdain plain on her face was truly directed her way, or if she was just trying to smother any sadness she felt from the Divine’s death. “I imagine this is fairly obvious, but we need your help to close the Breach. You are the only one who can,” she said.

“Provided we have enough power to pour into your mark,” Cassandra added. Katria wondered if the two ‘hands’ of the Divine got along very well. Or perhaps her primary question was whether Cassandra got along with anyone. 

Leliana nodded. “Yes. Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” 

Cullen was quick to interrupt. “I disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.”

Katria almost snorted, but figured it would be better to remain quiet and draw as little attention to herself as possible. She also assumed that the Lady Ambassador would find such expressions unladylike. 

Cassandra sighed, which surprised Katria because she assumed a Seeker who served the Chantry would frown on the rebel mages. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-” 

Cullen cut her off, but Katria didn’t process his words. That mark. The one on her hand that could harness the magic in the Fade. Or something. That’s all she was to them, she could see. Some empty vessel to shove magic into because the mark on her hand could solve some problems. 

Katria yanked her knife out from her coat and began turning it over in her hands. 

“Are you alright, Herald?” a voice asked her. 

She looked up. They were staring. “Katria. And I’m fine. I know the least about this thing on my hand; I don’t know who would be better to recruit.” 

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” Josephine said, scratching a note into the writing board she was carrying. Katria bet her handwriting was perfect; she seemed like the type. 

“Lady Katria, your noble ties could help us in that respect,” Josephine added. 

Katria gave a weak, one syllable laugh. “My noble ties?” 

She tilted her head. “You are Katria Trevelyan, of House Trevelyan in Ostwick?” 

Katria flipped her knife over in her hand. “In theory, yes.” 

“In theory?” Leliana asked, clasping her hands behind her back. 

“Well, ah….” She scratched her head. Dark family secrets weren’t really the conversation topics she covered with complete strangers. 

Leliana continued. “I should say, Herald, that my agents have compiled precious little information on you and your whereabouts over the past ten years.” 

Josephine cleared her throat. “You may not be comfortable with it, but as many proclaim you the Herald of Andraste, and the Chantry denounces such claims, much attention will be put on your actions now and in the past.” 

“So what are you saying?” Katria asked, brow furrowed. “I mean, I’m not anyone special. And I haven’t done anything bad in the past.” She pursed her lips. “That bad.” 

“Who are you?” Cassandra asked, to the point, as usual. “Why were you at the Temple of Sacred Ashes? Why would a Free Marches noble choose to disappear from her family’s record for ten years?” 

“I did not chose to disappear,” Katria said, then clenched her jaw. “I….” 

“It would behoove you to cooperate with us, Herald,” Cullen remarked, hands rested on the pommel of his sword. His expression was calculating. 

“Would it?” she asked, almost as a reflex. “Also, it’s Katria. That’s all that I am. And forgive me for being leery about trusting a group of people I just met.” 

“We simply want to help you,” Josephine explained, in a pleading tone. “If you tell us these things, I can-”

“Fine. Fine,” Katria snapped. She wouldn’t be able to escape this scrutiny, better for Josephine to deal with it then her. She seemed capable. Or at least the nicest person in the room. 

“I hardly consider myself a Trevelyan,” she said. “As I am told, my mother enjoyed the company of other men from time to time, and when I was born, my father was convinced I was not really his child. She passed before I was five, so he couldn’t really prove it and couldn’t afford to when…when my eldest brother died a little later. That made me the next heir to his fortune.” 

“You certainly don’t look like an heir,” Cassandra said, eyeing her tattered jacket probably. 

Katria shook her head. “My father died when I was 22. Upon his death, my younger sister Kate absconded to Orlais with our entire fortune. Wanted to marry herself some fancy asshole. It left me destitute—the real destitute, not the land-owning type of poverty most nobles face. I didn’t have a way to fight her. She was clever, took me by surprise, and could leverage the fact that I was most likely a bastard child.”

“Is your sister still alive?” Josephine asked. “Is she married?”

Katria made a disgusted noise. “We haven’t spoken since she left the Free Marches. She could be dead. I certainly hope she is.” She breathed through her nose in an attempt to calm herself. “This was all a long time ago. In regards to my past actions, since those seem to be so important, I haven’t done anything. Truly. I have spent ten years, mostly alone, in the Free Marches and Ferelden. I was at the Conclave because I got hired to be a scribe; that’s all.” 

“My sympathies, Lady Herald,” Josephine said softly. 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “I was better equipped than most. My reading and writing skills were fairly valuable, and I know how to defend myself.”

“I noticed that,” Cassandra remarked, studying her. “Your combat skill was unexpected to me.” 

She smiled slightly. “I trained for five years under an Orlesian duelist in my youth.” 

“An Orlesian duelist?” Cullen interjected incredulously. “Those men are nothing more than glorified dancers.” 

Katria resisted the urge to role her eyes. Of course the Templar would say that. Their solutions to problems involved smashing large swords against things, mostly mages. Under the guise of ‘protection’. 

“Orlesian dueling is a highly regarded performance skill,” Josephine said. “That could be of use to us.” 

“Not in actual combat,” Cullen protested. 

“I have spent years adapting what I learned to be…more practical,” Katria explained, although that didn’t remove the condescending look from Cullen’s face. 

“Those skills will be helpful to you in the Hinterlands,” Leliana assured her. 

“The Hinterlands?” Katria said, raising an eyebrow. “You all just love asking for trouble, don’t you? That place is a war zone.” 

Leliana nodded. “We know that. But there is a cleric by the name of Mother Giselle who has expressed an interest in speaking to you. She is tending to some refugees near Redcliffe.” 

“If there is any opportunity to soften the Chantry’s ire against us, we should take it,” Josephine said. “Spreading our influence beyond this valley will be essential to our success. You are better equipped than anyone to do that.” 

Katria looked down at herself when she saw a flicker of doubt in Josephine’s expression. She couldn’t blame the woman—her ragged jacket, loose-fitting clothes, and even messier hair were not characteristics of someone who was supposed to be a Herald for the Chantry’s most important religious figure. 

“I am equipped with lots of daggers and the occasional joke, but that’s it.” 

Josephine cleared her throat and gave a polite smile. “Well, that’s what I’ve been hired for. To make the tales people tell of you as complimentary as possible.” 

Katria pushed her unruly dark hair behind her ears; it normally wasn’t so wavy, but she hadn’t brushed it for a while amidst the chaos of being the only person in Thedas able to close the massive hole in the sky. She smiled sheepishly. 

“Good luck with that.”


	2. Chapter Two

Walking around the Hinterlands was like walking through a bad memory. Katria had left the Free Marches for Ferelden nine years ago, so she saw first-hand the damage that the Blight had done in places like Denerim. Despite being ravaged by war, the Fereldens were resilient, but that could not completely eradicate the scenes of destruction and poverty she saw. 

The war between the mages and Templars reminded Katria of those scenes. Neither side cared that they were victimizing an entire region by sending perfectly innocent people fleeing from their villages and livelihoods. Katria detested the entire situation—detested the fact that it took both sides so long to sit down and talk to each other like adults. And sure, that method went to shit after the Temple exploded, but now there were bigger problems that needed dealing with. Namely, the massive hole in the sky. Unless the Templars and mages intended to continue to fight one another in the Fade after all of Thedas was consumed by the Breach, there were more pressing matters to deal with.

This sentiment was the only thing that Katria and the Lady Seeker agreed upon. If Cassandra wasn’t reprimanding her for “fighting like a warrior in armor meant for an archer,” they were fighting over the way Katria organized their travel. 

“We simply do not have time to run around the Hinterlands looking for druffalos or stolen rings,” Cassandra snapped as they stood in an open field in the late evening. “We should be locating mage and Templar strongholds and clearing them out to protect—would you quit stopping to collect herbs?” 

Katria was crouching behind a boulder watching a ram graze in a nearby pasture. She had crammed some elfroot leaves in her pocket before she spotted the animal. She harshly shushed Cassandra as she pulled a dagger out of her pocket.

“Three coppers I get it in the eye,” she whispered to Varric. When he snorted and gave a nod, she reached into a pouch at her side and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Katria crept toward the ram, rearing back her arm and throwing the dagger at its face. The ram gave a strangled cry and collapsed.

Katria appeared in the middle of the pasture in a triumphant pose. “Pay up, dwarf!”

Cassandra gripped her sword tightly in her hand, her lips pressed together. “We shall make camp here tonight,” she ground out.

Katria dropped her pose. “Oh come on, I was just-,” 

Cassandra threw her pack on the ground. “I am going to look for wood.”

Varric chuckled as he hooked Bianca on his back and approached her. “You rile her up worse than I do, Cat.”

“Katria,” she said, as she knelt down by the ram and yanked her dagger out of its eye. She didn’t bother wiping the blood off the blade as she got to work skinning it. 

Varric shook his head. “No, I call you cat because you remind me of one.” 

Katria grinned and wiped the sweat off her brow. “Because I’m graceful, intelligent and agile?” 

He shrugged. “Or lazy, resilient, and far too curious for your own good.” 

“Resilient?” she said, turning the ram over by its horns. “I’ll take it. It does seem like kind of a cop-out to call someone named Katria ‘Cat’ though. Especially for renowned writer Varric Tethras.” 

He moved to the side as Katria slid open the ram’s belly and let its innards spill out. He sighed. “Well, you win some, you lose some. I briefly thought Princess might be a better name.” 

“Princess?” she asked incredulously. “You think of ‘princess’ as I’m up to my elbows in ram blood?” 

Varric laughed. “And when you wipe dirt on your pants, spit on the ground after fights and consume a liquor called Dragon Piss. Not really noble habits.” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so it’s supposed to be ironic?” 

“We artists are a clever lot,” he explained. Varric turned his head and watched Cassandra dump a pile of wood on the ground. She huffed and sat herself down on a stump. The Seeker began writing furiously in a journal. 

“The Seeker’s writing an angry letter again.” 

Katria looked up. “Angry letter?” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, you haven’t noticed? She writes back to her team about our progress.” 

“You mean she complains about me?” Katria asked. She sighed. “I didn’t ask for this—I’m so tired of people…” She trailed off and clenched her jaw. 

“It might make you feel better to talk about it,” he said more quietly. 

“I find violence to be much more of a comfort,” Katria grumbled. She stacked the meat she had harvested from the ram into a pile. “Get Solas to…” She waved her hands over it. “Ice magic this stuff, so we can take it to the Crossroads in the morning.” Katria looked up at the quickly darkening sky about them and then back at her bloody hands. “I’m going to go wash up.” 

She trudged away from their camp; it took her maybe fifteen minutes to reach a small stream that flowed down from Lake Luthias. Katria settled herself on the bank of the creek, her boots sinking into the wet clay as she reached out to clean the blood off her hands. Once she’d cleaned them and splashed some water on her face, she sat back with a sigh. 

All this had been…..a lot for her. Katria was not a devout Andrastian like Cassandra. Some days she doubted she even believed in the Maker at all because in the past ten years, it hadn’t really mattered. Now she was thrust into a world where the question on everyone’s lips was whether she thought she was chosen—and in order to be chosen, one has to think that there’s someone out there doing the choosing. 

If Cassandra was right, and Katria was chosen, that only meant one thing to her: that the Maker was an idiot. Which probably wasn’t fair to say out loud, but _really?_ She was a disgraced Free Marches noble with no friends, no money, and certainly no faith. Cassandra or Leliana or Divine Justinia should have been chosen. Not her. 

Katria ran her fingers along her temple. They were cold from the water. The sun was setting as she stood to return to camp in the remaining daylight. She heard some twigs cracking to the side of her just before she began moving. Katria squinted into the shadows and saw the outline of a crouching figure. 

She darted forward and tackled the shadow before they could get away. Katria felt herself being thrown to the side, so she yanked out her dagger. 

An Inquisition button glinted at her from the person’s shoulder, and Katria furrowed her brow.

The Inquisition agent threw off his hood and put his hands up. “Forgive me, Your Worship. Please, I meant no harm.” 

Katria lowered her arm. “What are you doing out here? Are you one of Cullen’s men?” 

He swallowed and averted his gaze. “No, Your Worship.” 

“So, you work for Sister Leliana?” she said. She slid her dagger back into her belt. “Were you spying on me?” 

“No, no, I wasn’t-,” 

Katria rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine. Lie to me like you were ordered to.” She threw her hand up and turned away from him. This is what her life had been reduced to. Being alone was a luxury she did not have anymore. Leliana and the others pried into her life like it was their right. She was the chosen one; they were the leaders of the Inquisition, so in order to save the world they dug thoughtlessly into her past without regard for her or her feelings. 

Katria crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. She had agreed to use her mark to close the Breach. She had not agreed to this invasion of privacy, this semblance of authority. She did not mind helping these refugees—she liked helping people, in fact. But this framework was not working for her. She could not afford for them to know all her secrets. 

Katria swiveled around to the thoroughly embarrassed scout. “What’s your name?” 

“Morrison, Your Worship.” 

“What do you….” Katria stopped and squinted when she saw something tucked in the agent’s belt. It was a folded and sealed piece of parchment. “Is that a letter?” 

He turned himself to the side, his eyes widening. “Ah, yes?” 

Katria held her hand out. “Seeker Pentaghast's letter? Give it to me.” 

The scout began to stammer. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t-,” 

She shook her outstretched hand with more urgency. “Sure you can. Or, I order you to. Because I’m the Herald. Of Andraste. The Herald of Andraste is telling you to give up the letter.” 

Morrison slowly reached towards his belt and slid out the letter. Katria grabbed it from his hand and opened the seal with her thumb. 

“That will be all,” Katria said as an afterthought before starting to read the letter.

Morrison cleared his throat. “You….aren’t going to give it back?” 

She shook her head. “No. I imagine I will be having a discussion with our Lady Seeker concerning its contents. Thank you for your cooperation.” 

He stared at her with a befuddled expression for a few moments before creeping back into the shadows. Katria turned her attention back to the letter. There was an entire paragraph dedicated to her. 

_Trevelyan continues to vehemently resist her title. She is belligerent and uncooperative. The way she fights is entirely too reckless. She does not get along with Solas or myself, and entertains herself by making off-color jokes with Varric and consuming too much alcohol. She is a menace, and I pray that she and I get along better before we depart for Val Royeaux. As a result of our tense relationship, I have been unable to extract more information concerning her background. She has not made any mention of other family members or the circumstances of her brother’s death. I therefore have no way to shed any light on Solas’ concerns. While I do not approve of her attitude toward the Inquisition, I do understand her reticence about contacting her family. Someone else should be tasked with finding out more information about the Herald, as I doubt I will have any better success in the future. We will discuss this information further once we return to Haven. I am attempting to direct Trevelyan towards our main objectives, but she gets easily distracted. I will alert you when we turn our course back to camp._

Katria let the letter drop from her line of view with a scowl. Belligerent and uncooperative? The circumstances of her brother’s death? And what exactly were Solas’ concerns? She made a fist, the letter crumpling in her hand. Her anger was growing steadily, seeping into her better judgment. She began marching back to camp. 

Cassandra was sitting by the fire next to Solas and Varric. Katria stormed up to her and shoved the letter in her face. Cassandra jumped up before Katria began speaking. 

“You have a lot of nerve sending this biased account back to Haven,” she snapped. 

“Excuse me?” Cassandra said, furrowing her brow. 

“This,” Katria replied, gesturing to the crumpled letter in her hand. “You gave this letter to one of Leliana’s agents, one who wouldn’t even let me go off alone without following me because apparently I can’t be trusted to wash my hands!” 

“You read my letter?” Cassandra asked angrily, trying to snatch it from her. 

Katria jumped back. “Oh, I read it. Like I said, you’ve got a lot of nerve.” 

“Has the truth upset you, Trevelyan?” she snapped. “You have been acting like a child.” 

“A child?” Katria snorted. “I didn’t realize that anyone who didn’t follow your orders without question was a child!” 

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “Your glibness does you no credit, Herald. You don’t take our job seriously, and it completely-”

“I’m sorry I don’t stand around all day with a serious expression on my face like you do,” Katria sneered. “You may not believe it, but this matters to me. Of course it matters to me! There’s a giant fucking hole in the sky, you really don’t think I want to close it?” 

“Then why exactly are you so angry about this letter?” she demanded. 

Katria stepped forward, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. “Your condescending attitude is not okay with me. I may not be the devout warrior you hoped for, but I will not be followed around or kept on a leash like some….some figurehead! I-,” She stopped herself and gave a low growl. “I have been alone for a long time, and no one seems to care that I’ve suddenly been thrust into—into being worshipped! And followed everywhere I go. You aren’t telling me what I need to know, and you may not believe I am responsible for the Breach, but you still treat me like a criminal.” 

Cassandra pressed her lips together, inspecting her. “I do not think you are a criminal.” 

Katria sighed. “Then why are you writing about ‘extracting information’ from me? Because of….Because of something Solas thinks?” She glanced over at the apostate who was sitting beside Varric. 

He nodded and stood. “I expressed some concerns to Cassandra and the others. I assumed they would share them with you. I apologize for not following up on that.” 

“Concerns about what?” Katria asked. 

“Your mark, of course,” Solas replied, gesturing to her side. He switched his staff to his other hand and leaned on it. “When you first received it, the magic was consuming your body. This made sense to me because you are not a mage. Those who are not mages cannot harness such magic.” 

“What about Templars?” Katria protested. “They’re not mages. They take lyrium.” 

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Templar abilities are not magic. They are derived from lyrium that they take in moderation. Even then, it is still damaging. If any Templar were to take too much lyrium at one time, they would die.” 

Katria looked down at her hand. “I guess this mark is the equivalent to a ridiculous amount of lyrium, then?” 

The elf nodded. “It should have killed you. I was shocked when it did not.” 

“Well, thanks.” 

“I was pleased it did not kill you,” Solas quickly said. “But it remains a mystery to me.” 

“If I was chosen by the Maker, doesn’t that explain it?” Katria asked.

Solas gave a small smile. “For those who believe in such things. Maybe it even convinces people to believe in such things.”

“But not you,” Katria interjected. 

Solas nodded, throwing a tentative glance towards Cassandra. “No, I am not fully convinced. I think perhaps there could be another explanation for your resilience.”

“I’m not a mage,” Katria choked out. She could feel the blood pumping in her face. She clenched her fist and brought it to her side. She wasn’t. She _wasn’t lying_. She wasn’t a mage. 

“I understand that,” Solas said. “It still makes me curious. With that mark, you harness a tremendous amount of magic. To be honest even if you were a mage, I don’t know that your capacity for magic would be large enough—unless you were a very powerful one.” 

“This doesn’t—It isn’t-” Katria stopped and pulled down on her sleeves. “Important. It isn’t important.” 

“It very well could be,” he argued. “If our plan is to push even _more_ magic through you to seal the Breach, your safety might be at risk.” 

“I think my safety was at risk the minute I got spit out of the Fade,” Katria grumbled. “And especially here in the Hinterlands. So many fucking bears.” 

Varric snorted, which only made the thin line of Solas’ mouth turn downwards. 

Katria sighed and sat down beside Cassandra. “I see why Varric calls you Chuckles.” 

“If you have no interest in your safety, I will not continue my investigation,” he replied stiffly. 

She looked at him from over her shoulder. “That would be great. Maybe you can start an investigation on bears. And killing them faster.”

Solas turned and wordlessly retreated to his bed roll. Katria threw her hand up. 

“Why is everyone in this Inquisition so grumpy? Maker’s balls.” 

Katria looked over at Cassandra, who was reading the letter she had written. The Seeker must have taken it from her hand when she was talking to Solas. 

“I was….too harsh,” she said, her words more careful than usual. She sighed. “I am often that way, I know.” 

Katria ran her tongue along her front teeth. “I was also. I’ve been at your throat for sport this entire time, and maybe I….” She scratched the side of her face. “I can do more. I can do better, but I’m not like you. I’m not very serious or devout. I care, though.” 

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Cassandra said. She gestured to the letter. “Perhaps you could begin writing your own reports.” 

Katria shrugged. “I can. And…first thing tomorrow morning I think we should mow through that Templar encampment near Dennet’s farm. I will try to cower more behind your shield.” 

She cracked a smile. “That is not necessary. You are quite skilled with your daggers.” 

Katria turned the letter over to its blank side. “Could I get that in writing, do you think?” 

“I regret telling you to hold on to your sense of humor,” she replied, shaking her head. 

Katria sat back, pressing her palms against her knees. “At least you are still acknowledging I have one.” She reached out and nudged one of the burning logs in the fire pit with her toe. “You said in the letter that you understood my resistance to contacting my family. What did you mean by that?” 

Cassandra grabbed her sword and began inspecting it. “I am a part of the royal family in Nevarra, but I do not feel much…attachment to them or my homeland.” 

“Look at that, even more we can agree on,” Katria said, grinning. “Although being a Pentaghast is significantly more impressive than being a Trevelyan.” 

Cassandra sighed. “Not as impressive as you would think. The Pentaghasts are a large clan. I have hundreds of relatives so distant that they need charts to prove we’re related at all.” She turned her sword over, its blade glinting in the light from the fire. “To me, it was a life worth getting away from.” 

“I can understand that.” 

Cassandra looked over at her. “Yes, I know. You chose….” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Abject poverty over a life married to some Free Marches noble with a teapot fetish?” 

“A teapot fetish?” 

She laughed. “Yes, his name was….oh, what was his name? Laurent! Laurent something. When my sister disappeared with my inheritance, he offered to marry me, despite the fact that I would have no dowry. He was the younger son of some noble family—still much older than me though. And I remember going to his estate, and there were teapots everywhere. He must have had 200 of them.” Katria rubbed the back of her head, grinning. “Anyway, I quickly extricated myself from that arrangement, and I decided I’d be better off just disappearing. My extended family treated me with as much disdain as my father had.” 

“Was it hard?” Cassandra asked, “Being out there alone?” 

“Maker’s balls, yes. I had a handful of slivers to my name and two daggers. It was…unpleasant to say the least. The first few years. But I adjusted.” 

Cassandra was looking into the fire. “And then the Maker sent you to us.”

Katria snorted. “Perhaps. Which I suppose means that both the Maker and I have a very unusual sense of humor.” 

===

_Ambassador, Spymaster, Commander:_

_We need to find a more succinct way to refer to you all as a unit. Cassandra has asked that I begin writing reports to keep you better informed about the situation here. She and I have worked to make our relationship less antagonistic, and it has been going very well; we hug out most of our problems and sometimes read poetry to each other. (I’m just kidding we do neither of those things.)_

_We have, however, cleared out most of the Templars and rebel mages in this area; I think a continued Inquisition presence could go far in keeping it that way. As the construction of the watchtowers nears completion (thanks, Cullen), Master Dennett has agreed to send his mounts to Haven. Cassandra also convinced him to lend his personal services as horse master to the Inquisition, while I stood behind her and nodded encouragingly._

_I closed a number of Fade rifts. Cassandra asked me to include information about how closing the rifts affects my health. It hurts sometimes, but I will be fine. I know Solas discussed his confusion about my ability to wield this magic since I am not a mage, but I am afraid I have no information for him or you all. I am thirty-one years old. I think I would have figured out by now if I were a mage._

_Cassandra explained to me the interest you have in my brother’s death, and I find it…inappropriate. I understand that some in Ostwick speculated that his disappearance was linked to a suspected apostate, but those two things had nothing to do with each other. I was there. Fredrick was murdered by some bandits, and I escaped. Ask about it again and the circumstances of your deaths will—nevermind, I assume you all have enough resources that my threats bear little weight on anything. Still, it’s a topic I’d rather not discuss further._

_We will be returning to Haven once I spend a few more days helping the refugees here. I know firsthand the difficulty of being uprooted from one’s home, and I want to help._

_Katria  
(The Herald of Andraste, but I do seriously wish people would stop calling me that)_


	3. Chapter Three

Cassandra and the Herald returned from the Hinterlands after a month. As far as Cullen could tell, their expedition had been relatively helpful to the Inquisition’s reputation, despite the complaints the Seeker had about the Herald’s personality. These complaints decreased over time—in her last letter, Cassandra had even used the words ‘competent’ and ‘Herald’ in the same sentence. 

Cullen had not spoken with the Herald much before she left. He had seen her scheming with Varric on most occasions. They had a brief conversation about his recruitment from Kirkwall, and she admitted to living there for a few months many years ago. She had said it was “kind of a shithole.” Crass, but she was right. 

“Hold your sword like that, and you’ll drop it after your first hit,” he snapped at a recruit near him. As he turned, he saw the Herald walking towards the practice field he was standing in. She was wearing the hunting jacket that drove Josephine mad. Cullen didn’t really see a problem with it. It was a little big—it even fit over the scout coat Harritt had made for her—and the sleeves were tattered, but it was practical. The brown color and the textured collar were probably good camouflage. 

Cullen squinted when she got closer into his line of sight. One of her daggers was hanging from her belt, and it was covered with blood. On her other side, she was holding a small gray fox. Why did she have—Cullen’s eyes met hers, and he felt himself blush. She stopped and tilted her head. Cullen broke from her gaze and rubbed the back of his neck as she approached. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked him. 

“Yes, Herald. Forgive me. I was….” He trailed off, and she grinned. 

“Katria. And you were probably wondering why I was holding this fox?” She hiked it up further. She was holding it by its belly. Cullen noticed that its paw was wrapped in a strip from her shirt. 

“I was…curious,” he admitted. 

“I was out looking for some iron deposits for Threnn,” Katria explained, “And I saw this poor guy getting chased around by some wolves. I killed the wolves, but they’d already injured his paw. So I want to help him.” 

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “You should not be using poultices on this fox. We have limited supplies and-,” 

She held up a hand to stop him. “Commander, sheesh, hold on.” Katria laughed to herself. “I knew you’d say that, so I collected some elfroot.” She pointed down at the spacious pocket on the front of her coat; green leaves were poking out from the lapel. “And before you continue to complain, I collected the elfroot from some very high points that most scouts probably couldn’t even get to.” 

Cullen studied her, his brow furrowed. “For a fox?” 

“Well…” She shrugged and looked down at it. She used one of her fingers to scratch it between its ears. “It’s hurt.” 

“Do not spend too long helping it. We are meeting in the Chantry soon,” he said, clearing his throat. 

The Herald looked up at him. “I will be on time, Commander, I promise.” She smiled slightly and held the fox out to him, like an offering at an altar. “Do you want to pet it?” 

Cullen straightened. “No, thank you.” 

The Herald lowered the animal slightly. “No?” Her gaze moved to the recruits fighting around her. She nodded. “Ah, of course. Can’t be seen petting cute animals when you have a reputation to keep.” 

Cullen snorted at the suggestion of such foolishness, but she was right. A little. 

Katria looked up towards her quarters as she nestled the fox back under her arm. 

“I will see you soon, Cullen.” 

He gave a curt nod. “Herald.” 

“Katria,” she said as she turned her back to him. It was a reflex to her now, it seemed. 

After a few more clipped instructions to his lieutenants, Cullen began making his way to the Chantry. He was the first one in the War Room, as usual, but Cassandra and Josephine were close behind him. The Herald arrived last, chatting with Leliana while spinning a small dagger around her finger. She had cleaned the other knife at her waist. 

“Welcome back to Haven, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said to her. “We have received numerous reports about the invaluable assistance you provided in the Hinterlands.” 

“That we all provided,” Katria replied. “I was glad to help.” 

Josephine smiled politely. Everything Josephine did could be described as polite, to be fair. “We have received some other letters, too. One was of particular interest. It was from Lady Beverley Marcell, of Ostwick.” 

Katria ran her hand along her jaw. “Am I….related to her in some way?” 

“Ah, yes,” she said, a hint of surprise layered in her voice. “She is your aunt. Your father’s sister. Her letter arrived soon after you left for the Hinterlands. She was inquiring about you—apparently many of your extended family thought you were dead.” 

“Gladly thought I was dead,” Katria countered. “Had yearly celebrations because they thought I was dead.” She scrunched up her lips in concentration. “Although I don’t really remember this woman you speak of. My father had a lot of siblings. Beverly. Lady….” 

Katria stilled after a few moments, her face relaxing. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Oh…” 

“You remember her?” Josephine asked hopefully. “She is willing to pledge some assistance to our cause, and I was hoping you could-”

“No.” 

Josephine cleared her throat. “No, you don’t remember her or….?”

Katria began to turn red around the neck, fidgeting with the knife in her hands with more urgency. Without warning, she slammed the dagger into the wood of the table in front of her. Cullen’s hand instinctively flew to his sword.

“Oh!” Josephine yelped. “Oh, Herald, that’s a very expensive table and-”

Katria glanced up, like she was suddenly aware of her surroundings. Her eyes fell to the knife embedded in the table. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t…force of habit, I…” She extracted the knife from the table and guiltily rubbed at the mark it had left behind. She continued to look down as she spoke. 

“I remember her. My aunt. She…She only came to visit us once, as I recall. I told you how my father suspected my mother of having a mage as a lover, which in turn made him suspect that I would be a mage. I assume he shared his concerns with my aunt because she gifted him this book on superstitions. It had a bunch of remedies for ‘preventing magic formation in the earliest stages’ or some nonsense like that.” 

Katria intently studied the hilt of her dagger. “The book inspired my father to secretly hire some Templars from the Circle to come to our estate and try the methods out. Some of it was harmless—I remember being wrapped in cloth ‘blessed’ by a Chantry sister. Other…” She clenched her jaw. “There were other…”

She made a disgusted noise and let the dagger fall to her side. “Forgive me, this is all very depressing. Entirely too emotional for my tastes. They drowned me. The Templars said the magic in me would die just before I would, so they drowned me. And dear Beverley was _so_ approving of it. If we could…if we could just not talk to her o-or something that would be great. I suppose I understand if you have no choice.”

“Templars are not supposed to do that,” Cullen growled.

Katria glanced up at him. “My father gave them plenty of coin, and some Templars are assholes, in case you hadn’t noticed, Commander.” 

He stiffened. “I can assure you that none of the Templars here would have done something like that.” 

She frowned. “I hope you’re right.” 

Josephine was a little red in the cheeks. “Lady Trevelyan, I apologize. I had no idea of the circumstances surrounding your relationship with this woman. I will send her a polite refusal and nothing more.” 

“Don’t make it too polite,” Katria grumbled. She looked back up again with a shake of her head. “It’s alright, Josephine, really. You couldn’t have known. It was a very long time ago. It hardly matters now.” 

Cullen realized he was still tightly holding the handle of his sword. He released his grip and flexed his gloved fingers. He remembered how little respect he had for the Herald when he first heard that she was a noble. She had quickly proven herself to be the utter opposite of those stereotypes he harbored, which he thought was because she had lived away from that life for so long. But from the stories she kept stumbling into telling, it seemed she never really ever belonged there at all. 

Katria cleared her throat and gave a sheepish smile. “I apologize for derailing our conversation from Mother Giselle’s suggestion that we address the Chantry.” 

“She suggested you address them,” Leliana interjected, hands clasped behind her back. 

Josephine shrugged. “Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen said incredulously.

“Such faith, Commander,” Katria replied sarcastically. 

“I am not worried about your ability to talk to them, although you are…” He stopped when she raised an eyebrow. “Your safety is a bigger concern,” he finished quickly. “We need you alive to close the Breach.” 

“How is my safety a concern?” she asked. “What do you think they’ll do? Chant me to death?” 

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words. An angry mob will do you in just as quickly a blade,” Leliana said sharply. 

Cassandra stepped forward. “I will go with her.” 

“It’s so sweet that you fear for my safety,” Katria told her, smirking. 

The Seeker glowered at her, then looked at Leliana. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.” 

“But why?” Leliana asked exasperatedly. “This is nothing but a-” 

“What choice do we have?” she demanded. “Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.” 

Katria lifted her hand. “It will be fine. The least we can do is make an attempt. I’ll try to not get killed. That’s on the top of my to-do list every day anyway.” 

“Have you been to Val Royeaux, Herald?” Josephine asked her, after making a note on her board. 

“Katria. And yes, I have. Only once. I was older, eighteen I think. I remember my sister Kate being very popular there. You know, for potential marriages and stuff.” 

“You were not?” Leliana asked. 

She touched her cheek and gave a small laugh. “No, Orlesians are big fans of facial…symmetry, and I lack that.” 

Her thumb was touching the most notable feature of her face: a two or three inch scar that ran down her cheek. It must have been a deep cut that healed badly to still be so visible; it even retained a faint tinge of red. She dropped her hand. 

Cullen found himself looking at the rest of her face. She had a certain comeliness to her, he had eventually admitted after hearing Leliana and Josephine blather on endlessly about how to deal with her noble background. It had occurred to him that although she didn’t dress like a noble, she carried herself fairly gracefully. She had a regal looking nose, prominent brow, thin lips always pressed into a smirk. The only other thing that struck him was her height. She was shorter than him, to be sure, but only by a few inches. When he had first heard of her skill set, he assumed she would be short and waif-like. 

He had overheard a few recruits talking about the rest of her figure a few days ago—the things they said didn’t bear repeating, and after Cullen was done with them, they certainly regretted saying them in the first place. 

“Have you had that scar a long time?” Cullen heard Leliana ask. 

The Herald straightened. “Yes, I have. Got it from a fight. Last time I sparred with my instructor with real daggers.” 

Cassandra stepped back from the table. “I don’t expect any marriage proposals during our visit. We should begin preparations, Herald.” 

The Seeker left the room, and Katria followed her. He heard her voice drifting out from the hallway. 

“It’s Katria. Do you need me to spell it? Do you want to practice-”

“She is lying to us.” 

Cullen jerked his head towards the sound of Leliana’s voice. 

“Who?” he asked. 

Leliana shifted her weight between her feet and glanced at the door. “The Herald.” 

Josephine frowned. “What is she lying about?”

She unclasped her hands. “Our Herald has not been careful with her stories. Probably because she is not used to being under such scrutiny.”

“What stories?” Cullen asked, resting his hand on his sword. 

“About that scar.” 

Josephine sighed. “Perhaps it is a painful memory for her.” 

Leliana shook her head. “We cannot afford to have a dearth of information on someone so important to the Inquisition, whether we like it or not. She is why the faithful flock here,  
and she is hiding something.” 

“Let us talk to her once she returns from Val Royeaux,” Josephine suggested. “She might be more forthcoming once she feels more comfortable.” 

Leliana sighed. “Alright, Josie. We will try it your way first.” 

Cullen frowned. He was more in agreement with Leliana. What if the Herald had more to do with the explosion at the Conclave then she let on? They had released her of any guilt, but Cullen had not been there; he had taken Cassandra’s word, but what if she had gotten something wrong? He resolved to keep a closer watch on the Herald to ensure she did not cause any trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to the book on superstitions is from a codex entry in the Chateau D'onterre in the Emerald Graves. Which might not be particularly relevant given the other liberties I take with the background story for a Trevelyan (because its fun and why not?)


	4. Chapter Four

After Katria was done making arrangements for their trip, she returned to the Chantry to talk to the Quartermaster and Mother Giselle. As she was ascending the steps, she heard a commotion coming from the courtyard. People were gathered in a mob, shouting at one another, until Cullen marched over. He looked quite furious. Katria could appreciate that he seemed to have as little patience for this in-fighting between mages and Templars as she did. As Katria crept closer, she saw Chancellor Roderick hurry forward to engage with Cullen as the group dispersed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had avoided conversation with the man as much as possible—Josephine had gently requested as much after one of their conversations resulted in Katria shaking a dagger in his face. She tried to explain that it wasn’t her fault; the asshole kept accusing her of mass murder like saying it enough times would make her guilty. She almost hated the fact that they both agreed she was _not_ the Herald of Andraste. 

Katria walked up to them finally, her boots crunching in the snow. She gave Cullen a nod of acknowledgement before glaring at the Chancellor. 

Cullen shook his head. “Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick snapped. 

“Who, you?” he asked snidely. “Random clerics not important enough to be at the Conclave?” 

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste? I think not.” 

“You think not?” Katria replied. “I’m impressed, Chancellor, since you seem to have done so little thinking before this point.” She threw a look at Cullen. “Why exactly are you allowing this man to loiter here?” 

“Clearly your _Templar_ knows where to draw the line,” Roderick said, putting his arms behind his back and smiling smugly. 

Cullen looked like he wanted to hit him. “He’s toothless. There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.” He frowned. “I’m sure the Chancellor is a good indication of what to expect in Val Royeaux.” 

“That explains why I’m dreading that trip so much then.” Katria sighed. “Let’s hope I find solutions and not a cathedral full of Chancellors.” 

“The stuff of nightmares,” Cullen remarked. 

Roderick crossed his arms over his chest. “Mock if you will. I’m certain the Maker is less amused.” 

Katria smirked. “Oh, no, Chancellor, as Andraste’s chosen, I can assure you the Maker finds your attempts at leadership _very_ amusing.” 

Cullen looked down to hide his smile, and Katria perked up, infinitely pleased with herself. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said to Roderick, and Cullen took her cue to walk away. 

“Was there something you needed?” he asked, once they began walking down the steps past Leliana’s tent. 

“Only to warn you that if Josephine gets word of our conversation with the Chancellor, I’m telling her it’s all your fault,” Katria said. 

“She will not believe that, I assure you.” Cullen looked over at her small cabin as they passed it. “Is…that fox alright?” 

Katria’s brow rose in surprise. Cullen’s casual conversations were still somehow strictly professional. It was certainly…thoughtful of him to have remembered the fox. “Yes. It should be alright just in time for me to release him before my departure to Val Royeaux.”

“Well…good,” he said, clearing his throat. He pushed open the door to the outskirts of Haven, and Katria watched him straighten. She followed him to the tent that he used as an office. 

He lifted up the flap, then seemed to realize she was still there. “Did you….?” 

“You have books!” Katria exclaimed. She hurried past him into the tent and crouched down by a small shelf. 

“Ah…yes.” Cullen followed her inside. “Do you read often?” 

Katria shook her head. “Rarely. Not my favorite hobby. I prefer stabbing things for sport. But on the road I have to preserve my strength, and I can only listen to Solas talk about the Fade for so long. I thought bringing a book or two might belay my boredom.” 

She ran her thumb along the spines on the top shelf. “These are all about military strategy,” she said, resting her fist under her chin. 

Cullen walked over to his desk and began sorting through his reports. “That is my job, Herald.” 

“Katria. I’m not opposed to it,” she said thoughtfully. “It could be useful to learn more about the dynamics of fighting in a group. I’ve only fought alone before.” 

There was a book on his desk that he picked up. “Here,” he said, thrusting it into her hands as she stood. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to get her to leave, or if he was just nervous about recommending a book for her. 

“Massache’s Method,” she read, turning the leather cover over in her hands. It was an old book, and when she opened it, she saw notes, probably in Cullen’s scrawled hand, written in many of the margins. She’d heard of this one before, from her dueling instructor as a child. Massache was an Orlesian who spent years training chevaliers. “Our Ferelden Commander taking tips from an Orlesian blade master? How scandalous.” 

“I have had that book for a very long time,” he explained. “You might find it useful. I still mostly doubt the…utility of your dueling skills in the field.”

Katria inspected the tattered spine. “Looks like you need a new copy.” 

Cullen nodded. “Yes. Versions of the book with diagrams have been printed, but they are rare. I am waiting to get my hands on one as a replacement.” 

“I won’t lose this copy, I promise,” Katria assured him, snapping the book shut. “And when I’m finished with it, maybe I can teach you a thing or two about combat skills in the field.” 

The flap of his tent opened, and an Inquisition officer appeared with a sealed envelope. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cullen said to her, as he accepted the report. 

“Of course, Commander.” Katria gave a brief nod to the officer before leaving his tent with the book tucked under her arm.

===

Katria’s hand was killing her. 

Well, probably not _literally_ killing her, but it hurt, a lot, and it made her want to sink down to the ground and curl up under her jacket until further notice. 

She gave a deep sigh, squinting in the dim light from the fire beside her. It was quiet except for the sound of the cracking fire and her companions’ rhythmic breathing. Solas was supposed to keep first watch with her, but had dozed off leaned up against the tree. She supposed she couldn’t blame him if the Fade was as interesting as he said it was. Cassandra had tried to insist that she should stay up the entire night because she was too angry to sleep after their encounter with the Templars in Val Royeaux that morning. Katria had convinced her to at least try to lie down, and the Seeker was asleep moments later, a frown on still on her face. 

Katria clenched her fist, her nails digging into the spot just under her mark. That did nothing to lessen the pain pulsing there. It was worst in her hand, but there was an ache all up her arm, in her veins, that intensified as she felt herself panicking about it. 

She didn’t know why she was letting herself panic in the first place. Cassandra was the most frustrated about the Lord Seeker’s actions, although she imagined Cullen would be just as upset, since Lucius’ shitbag behavior made going to the mages much more appealing. The Templars’ withdrawal from Val Royeaux made it downright inevitable to Solas that the Inquisition should pursue the mages. Katria was not so sure. 

Yes, the Lord Seeker was an asshole, but there had been Templars among that group that Katria could see were painfully dissatisfied with the events unfolding before them. One—Barris—had even stepped forward to voice his concern. That took bravery, she knew that. 

Katria had asked about this fact while Cassandra basically marched out of Val Royeaux. 

She had to jog to catch up to the Seeker. “Okay, so your old boss is a jerk. We go to the mages now, no problem.” 

“That is a problem,” she said. “The Templars are better equipped to help us.” 

Katria jumped in front of her with both palms up to make Cassandra stop. “I don’t understand why we can’t approach both groups.” 

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “You can’t be serious. They’re at war.” 

“ _Some_ of them are at war,” she insisted. “The ones who apparently don’t know how to use their words. Violence isn’t going to create equality or re-establish order when there’s a giant hole in the sky. There have got to be those in either group who can see that. And who can see that closing the Breach trumps all those concerns.” 

“You are too idealistic,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “Approaching both groups would create serious in-fighting in the Inquisition.” 

“I…” Katria sighed, dropping her hands. “I guess. I just can’t help but think that even if we approach the mages, there are some good Templars who would help us.” 

“We haven’t decided to approach the mages yet,” Cassandra cut in hastily. 

“We should at least go talk to them while we sort out what our strategy should be with the Lord Seeker,” Katria replied. 

“Yes, we will discuss that in Haven once you finish your business here.” Cassandra’s nose crinkled in disgust at the end of her sentence, probably because her business consisted of attending a salon tomorrow evening. Katria was not looking forward to the event, either; she did smile whenever she thought of how Josephine would react to knowing she’d be at some noble soiree without her guidance. 

A sharp pain shot through Katria’s hand, and she groaned. She had surprised herself by discussing such things with Cassandra earlier that day. She did not feel particularly in charge or helpful in the War Room, but the others seemed interested in including her. Which they would probably not continue to do if they knew more about her.

Katria buried her face in her unmarked hand, her finger running along the scar on her cheek. She quickly removed it and clenched her jaw. 

A rustling sound echoed across the camp, and a head popped up from the darkness. 

“You glowing extra bright?” 

Katria leveled a look at the blonde-haired elf they had encountered that afternoon. Sera. Katria was not sure she completely understood what organization this girl was a part of or what she brought to the table, but she was an excellent archer, and that seemed like reason enough to be able to join the Inquisition. 

“Apparently,” Katria replied, clenching her fist again. 

“Does it hurt?” she asked. Sera didn’t even bother to dust the leaves off her shirt as she stood and trudged over to their food. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

By the expression on her face, Sera was apparently not satisfied with the food selection in Katria’s bag. “That didn’t answer my question, did it? You nobles always skirting around issues like it’s a sport or something. It makes more sense to get to the point.” 

“Alright, it hurts. More than usual for some reason.” 

Katria could have been mistaken, but Sera looked a little intimidated in the glow from the fire. She plopped down a few feet away from her. “You best watch out with that thing. Magic is bad news. I’ve been thinking, if mages just sat on their hands, everything would fine.” 

Katria snorted. “Not a bad idea. In fact, if the mages _and_ Templars just sat on their hands I’d have an easier job getting them to worry about our real problems.” She pointed upwards to emphasize her point, but doubted it was necessary. 

Sera nodded. “It’s the daftest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s weird, and right there, and they still want to punch each other.” 

“Most days I feel like punching them also. Or stabbing, I prefer that.” 

Sera laughed, much too loudly, apparently having no concern for the people sleeping near them. “I think I’ll like you, Lady Herald. Most people get special, they lose their snerk. Can’t see how stupid it all is.” 

Katria scratched the side of her face. “I’m not special, so I’ve got my…snerk intact. And it’s Katria. Please. For the love of Andraste.” 

She looked down at her hand. The pain there had subsided a little. She wiggled her fingers. Her emotions were causing the pain, it was obvious to her. Her panic, paranoia, fear—it had all been building slowly since this started. Everywhere she went, she felt watched and appraised, like these people could see through her, right to her core where she had even feared to look after all this time. This mark, Solas’ concerns, the pain: it all dredged up painful memories and questions that she couldn’t ask without dumping all her secrets out like water through floodgates.

Katria buried her face in her knees and heard Sera move closer a few seconds later. She was eating an apple now. “This is gonna be fun. Putting arrows in baddies. Closing sky-holes. You watch. Everything’ll be back to normal.” 

Katria wish she felt comforted by that. She really liked normal.


	5. Chapter Five

Katria had been looking forward to a nice bath, maybe even a nap, or a drink once they returned to Haven from Val Royeaux. Her hand was still hurting her, and she hoped one of those things might lessen the pain. Cassandra had a completely different idea, and the minute they handed off their horses, the Seeker began dragging her to the Chantry. 

Josephine was already waiting for them with a smile. “It is good you have returned. We heard news of your encounter.” 

“You have?” Cassandra asked, stopping. 

Leliana’s voice rang out from the other side of the hallway. “My agents sent word ahead, of course.” 

Cullen was beside her and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked peeved, as Katria had predicated. “It is a shame that the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.” 

Cassandra sighed. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True. He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what?” Leliana remarked, furrowing her brow. “My reports have been…very odd.” 

“Most of the Templar recruits don’t even know what’s going on,” Katria said. “I assume,” she added quickly. She pulled her knife out from her jacket again. The pain in her hand worsened.

“We must look into it,” Cullen insisted. “I am sure not everyone will support the Lord Seeker.” 

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine suggested. 

“Katria,” she interjected offhandedly. She had no role in this fight about where the Inquisition should go, she knew that much. 

“You think the mage rebellion could be more united?” Cullen asked incredulously. “It could be ten times worse.” 

Katria rolled her eyes. “I’m sure if we just continue to argue about it and approach neither group, the Breach will politely close on its own.” 

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think we should meet with, then?” 

Katria spun her dagger around her finger. “You’re asking for my opinion?”

“The four of us are split on our course of action,” Cassandra admitted. “You could break the tie. And…it is your mark that will close the Breach.” 

Katria looked down at her boots. “Well, if we’re going to insist that we cannot approach more reasonable pockets of both groups, I think we should at least visit Redcliffe to investigate the mages’ situation. We can leave for the Hinterlands at the end of the week.” 

“That is an…acceptable plan,” Cassandra said.

Katria feigned surprised. “Lady Pentaghast, you must not show such sentiment in public. People will talk.” 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise before opening the door to the War Room. “We have serious things to discuss,” she snapped. 

“And some questions,” Leliana added. 

Katria was following Cassandra through the door when a sharp shock traveled up her arm. “Maker’s balls,” she blurted out, clutching her wrist. She lost her balance and fell against the door frame. 

Josephine moved her writing board into one hand and reached out. “Herald, are you alright?” 

Katria staggered into the room. She felt like her arm was being consumed by flame. Sweat was beginning to build on her temples. “Ah, yes, forgive me. I’m fine. It’s…” She shakily released her grip on her hand and stood. “It’s alright.” 

“Has your mark been hurting you?” Cullen asked as he swept into the room behind Leliana. He was resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. 

“No?” Katria replied weakly. She realized after her outburst that would not be a convincing answer. 

“You need to allow Solas to investigate this,” Cassandra said from beside her. “What if he was right about the magic in that mark? What if it kills you before you even get the chance to close the Breach?” 

“Oh, well, we couldn’t have that,” Katria grumbled. She took a deep breath through her nose. “I can handle it. I promise.” 

“You cannot promise that,” Leliana protested. “Allow Solas to experiment-,” 

“That’s dangerous!” Katria exclaimed. “We don’t know what this magic is or what it can do and it could hurt people! I-It has hurt people!” She leaned with her unmarked hand against the table as pain shot through her arm. 

The clink of Leliana’s boots rang out in the silent room as she walked over to stand in front of her. Katria stole a glance at her face—deep scowl, nose crinkled in disgust. It was a little terrifying. 

“Because I’m not hard of hearing, I assume you walked over here for dramatic effect,” Katria ground out. “So let’s hear it.” 

“You will stop making jokes, and you will tell me everything I ask,” Leliana said in an even voice. 

Katria pushed herself off the table, wincing from the pain it caused. Her eyebrows were set low over her eyes. “I will do neither of those things.” 

“How could you not understand the importance of our efforts?” Leliana snarled. “Everyone’s lives are at stake, and you dare jeopardize our attempts with your lies.” 

“I am not lying about anything,” she spat back.

Leliana uncrossed her arms, raising a finger to Katria’s chest. “You will tell me how you got that scar. You will tell me what happened to your brother. You will explain why you won’t let Solas investigate your mark and why you are so certain you can handle the magic in it.” 

Katria stepped forward to meet her gaze. “Make me,” she growled. “I dare you.” 

“That is enough,” Josephine snapped. She put her writing board on the table and walked over to them. “This is childish and inappropriate. We are _all_ going to get along, and we are going to discuss our problems like adults.” Josephine looked pointedly at them both, until they took a few steps back.

“What is it that we are asking of the mages and Templars?” she demanded. “To sit down and talk through their issues. And yet you two— _leaders_ of the Inquisition—attempt to resort to violence and shouting to solve your problems?” 

“She started it,” Katria grumbled. 

“Herald.” 

She exhaled impatiently. “Fine. I’m sorry.” 

Josephine approached her, her hands clasped in front of her. “I know you care about closing the Breach,” she said softly. “It matters to you, of course. So perhaps you can understand why Leliana wants to have all available information, especially on your mark, to make sure it all works out.” 

Katria turned away and rested against the table. Her fingernail ran along the crest stamped into her dagger. She looked up at the door. It would be easy. Just jump up, sprint through into the hallway, and don’t stop until none of them could ever find her. That was her skill set. 

She glanced over at Josephine. “Can we just skip the part where you use my real name, like I’ve been asking, to appeal to my emotional side—which I deny having—in order to get me to tell you what you want to know?” 

Josephine smiled slightly. “And you told me you didn't know anything about diplomacy.” 

Katria stood and turned back to face everyone else at the table. “I want discretion about this.” 

“Of course,” Josephine assured her. 

“Explain yourself first,” Cassandra replied. She was frowning. 

She squeezed her dagger so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I….might have some more insight into the nature of this mark. Or at least insight into why it’s not killing me.”

“This has to do with magic,” Cullen said. 

“Gold star for the Templar,” Katria muttered. She sighed. “I…” 

Katria had sworn to herself she would never tell this story. Ever. She’d done a damn good job keeping that promise for more than twenty years. And now? Maker, now she had to face it, while also thinking about the fact that she was apparently meant to save the world from destruction. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve this. 

Katria slammed her dagger into the table. She left it there—Josephine didn’t say anything anyway—and stared intently at it as she began to speak. 

“I was ten. In Ostwick. I was playing outside with my older brother Fredrick when there was an incident.” Katria cleared her throat and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t really remember everything. I had a headache, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I had…there was….an explosion? Big fireball. Fredrick was out of reach, thankfully. It-,” 

“ _You’re a mage_?” Cullen cut in angrily. “How could you-,” 

“I’m not,” Katria snapped, dropping her gaze to him. “That’s something you can’t exactly hide, you know.” 

“Then what is the meaning of your story?” Cassandra demanded. 

Katria pulled down on her sleeves. “I…was a mage. Once. Maybe.” 

Cullen shook his head. “No. No, that’s not how it works.” 

“You don’t get to decide that just because you’re a Templar,” she shot back at him.

Katria paused and took a deep breath. “Just…let me finish. As soon as _that_ happened, I panicked. Fredrick did too. My father had taken great pains to make sure I didn’t have any magical ability. He told me that if I ever became a mage the _nicest_ thing he’d do is send me to the Ostwick Circle.” 

Katria shoved her fists into her pockets. “I tried to control my abilities. In a matter of days, it was obvious to Fredrick and I that wasn’t going to work. I was-,” 

“Too powerful?” Leliana suggested. Her expression was less hostile now. Not by too much, though. 

“Apparently,” Katria replied, shaking her head. “Rather than go to my father, Fredrick wanted to…try something else. There was a traveler in town who many people suspected was an apostate. My brother approached him and asked for help. Asked him if there was any way to rid me of my abilities.” She stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know what they talked about, but the apostate agreed. We met him at night in the forest outside town, for obvious reasons.” 

Katria looked up at them, scratching her head. “This is the part where it gets fuzzy. But I can probably assuredly say that the apostate was an asshole and did _not_ want to help me. I will preface this by reminding you all that I was ten years old when this happened. I didn’t know anything about magic, or spells, so when he wanted to use…my blood that night, I didn’t see his more sinister intentions. My father had obsessively sheltered me from learning anything about magic because he hated it so much.” 

“That apostate was using blood magic to attempt to control your mind,” Cullen interjected, his mouth a thin line. “Or, worse, he wanted to summon a demon and bind you to it. He likely sensed how powerful you were.” 

“Something went wrong, didn’t it?” Cassandra asked. Her hand was on her sword.

Katria sighed. This was the hard part. “Yes. Very, very wrong.” The memories from that night surfaced in her mind against her will. She squeezed her eyes shut. 

“It backfired. Well, something backfired. I don’t know. Looking back at it now, he was trying to access the Fade, a demon, I remember seeing green. And I felt him—I-I felt the spell affecting me, and I panicked. I _really_ panicked.” Katria rested her fists on the table on either side of her dagger. “A _tremendous_ amount of power left me. It destroyed everything around us, burned it, including….including Fredrick and the apostate. They disintegrated into nothing. I remember watching it.” 

Katria tried to swallow back her tears. _Don’t cry. Don’t cry._ “I-I was so scared.” Her voice cracked. “I ran further into the forest. I-I staggered around, bleeding from the face for…for days until they found me. I looked horrible.” She gently touched her cheek. “I was lucky I wasn’t injured too badly. Just…this scar.” 

She sniffed. “They asked me where Fredrick was. I couldn’t…I couldn’t tell them the truth. So I told them that he and I ran into some bandits who kidnapped us for ransom. When we tried to escape, I said he was killed. No one suspected me of foul play. I mean, I was ten and I…worshipped Fredrick. He was my best friend. He, ah…” 

There were tears now. There were definitely tears on her face. “Fuck,” Katria muttered, as she wiped cheeks. She straightened, but kept her eyes glued to the ground. “I have not exhibited any magical ability since that day. Well, until the events at the Conclave. I have done little research on it, but I…” 

“A mage loses their magical ability when their connection to the Fade is severed,” Cullen explained. His face had lost its hostility and instead was just a little paler. “That is only possible through the Rite of Tranquility.” 

“That is the safe way to sever the connection,” Cassandra interjected. “It’s possible that when the apostate tried to bind her, her body rejected the spell or the demon so violently that she completely lost her connection. Her abilities had recently surfaced, and if she was powerful enough….” 

Leliana shook her head. “So Solas was right? You are able to harness the magic in the mark because you are a mage?” 

“I’m _not_ a mage,” Katria cut in tersely. “Mages wave their little sticks around or use spells and shit happens. I do none of those things. Even if my link to the Fade has been restored, I can’t do anything else but close rifts. I swear.” 

“Fine,” she said. “Then you have the capacity to harness magic unlike a normal person.” 

“You must understand now why I don’t think it’s a good idea for Solas to do any experimenting,” Katria remarked. She crossed her arms over her chest. She thought the worst of this had passed, but she felt a wave of despair crash into her. “I hurt people. I murdered my own brother—there wasn’t even a _body_ left.” 

More tears. She hated how hot they felt against her skin. “I’m…” Her hand shot out and grasped the handle of her dagger. The one Fredrick had given her a few months before he died. Said it was so she could be just like him. She pulled it out of the table. Her story was over, she’d told them what they needed to know. 

“Please excuse me,” she choked out, turning for the door without letting them speak. 

Katria tried to regulate her movement, so she did not look like she was sprinting in terror out of the Chantry, which was technically what she was doing. She jogged down the steps leading to the outskirts of Haven, not acknowledging Varric when he called after her. She headed straight for the completely frozen lake across from Cullen’s combat practice area. 

The wind was loud and bitterly cold, and she circled her arms around her body as she walked. There was a small dock just outside of view of the camp. She collapsed underneath it, curled into the spot where it was built over land. 

Katria sat there for a long time and wept. She hated herself for it. It had taken years for her to push that memory to the back of her mind. For a time, she couldn’t even look in the mirror, couldn’t look at the scar that was still so visible on her face, without losing it. 

The minute she had awoken after the events at the Conclave and looked at the glowing green mark on her hand, she had known. She felt the magic in it and knew it was there because of what had happened all those years ago. It completely terrified her. Katria thought she was rid of her abilities—at a terrible cost—and here they were again. She did not want to hurt anyone else. 

Katria was outside longer than she thought, and must have fallen asleep, because after a while the sky began to dim through the slats in the dock above her head. She was very, very cold, but she ignored that. She almost liked it. Being numb was better than what she had felt in the War Room as she told her story. 

A shadow appeared in the white drifts of snow beside her after some time. It paused, and then came closer, until Katria felt a presence beside her. 

Katria looked over at Cassandra. “Whose idea was it to send you?” 

The Seeker folded up one of her legs and let the other rest straight on the snow. “I asked to find you myself, if you must know.” 

Katria pulled her knees up to her face. “Why?” 

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I had an older brother, too.” 

“Congratulations,” she grumbled. Katria paused and buried her face in her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…” 

“I understand,” she replied. 

“I am sincerely hoping you didn’t murder your brother, too,” Katria remarked, scratching the spot behind her ear. 

Cassandra furrowed her brow. “You didn’t murder your brother. It was an accident.” 

Katria clenched her jaw and shook her head once sharply. “I should have controlled myself.” 

She sighed. “I know your brother’s death must have brought you unimaginable grief. That is what happened to me.” 

“I’m sorry, Cassandra,” Katria whispered. 

“I idolized him. Anthony.” The Seeker slung her arm over her bent knee. “When he died, it was the end of everything I knew.” 

“What happened to him?” Katria asked, her cheek rested on her knee. 

“A group of apostates wanted dragon blood and wanted Anthony to get it for them. He was a dragon hunter, you see.” Cassandra looked away from her. “He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me.” 

Katria felt a heaviness in her throat as her eyes filled with tears. She was enraged by her weakness. Again. “Damned apostates,” she said. It was meant to be witty. Maybe. It came out as more of a strangled sob. 

“It took many years to let go of my drive for vengeance,” Cassandra admitted. She fiddled with one of the buckles on her glove. “At times, I could not breathe; the rage nearly choked me.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind whistle across the frozen lake. Cassandra finally spoke again. “I always take solace in believing that the Maker has a plan, but…He is not always kind.” 

Katria just snorted. 

Cassandra brushed some fresh snow off her pants. She stood and offered Katria her hand. “It is getting dark. You will freeze.” 

Katria begrudgingly took her help and stood. She staggered to the side as her legs adjusted to standing again. She grabbed the side of the dock for support. 

“Do you think we could leave for the Hinterlands before the end of the week?” Katria asked, “Part of me wants to just get out of here.” 

“Yes, of course,” Cassandra said. “We can leave in two days if you would prefer. Josephine said she would like you to be here when that Madame Vivienne arrives. You should have no other business to attend to.” 

Katria nodded. “Alright.” She exhaled through her nose, watching the white cloud from her breath drift up into the darkening sky. “Thank you, Cassandra.” 

“Do not thank me. I misjudged you,” she said.

“How?” Katria asked. “Am I even funnier than you originally imagined?” 

The side of Cassandra’s mouth quirked up. “You are a most unusual person.” 

“I’m going to assume that’s the closest you will get to complimenting me.” 

Cassandra patted Katria’s shoulder, leaving her hand there to gently guide her back towards Haven. 

“You are probably right.” 

===

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence, hooray! Maybe. When I played the game, I found myself wondering about the ability of a 'normal' person to basically use rift magic, which I guess could be explained away by being 'chosen,' but I thought it would be interesting to try something else.


	6. Chapter Six

Two days later, Katria and the rest of her team were preparing to leave for the Hinterlands again. It had been an uneventful time, punctuated by visits from Leliana and Josephine.

Josephine had some wonderful, almost lyrical words, to express her sympathy over the incident in the War Room. She also gave Katria an expensive bottle of liquor, a Sun-Blonde Vint, which she shared with no one and finished in one evening in a feat Varric called “frighteningly impressive.” Leliana had not been as apologetic. She had appeared in Katria’s cabin the morning they were supposed to leave for the Hinterlands with a placid expression on her face. 

“I came to thank you for your cooperation the other day. I did not realize the circumstances of your decision to lie to us, and while I don’t condone the fact that you did, I am more understanding of it.” 

Katria was sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. Her feet were rested on the ledge of the window. 

“You may not believe this, but you can trust me,” she replied. “You _should_ trust me. I hadn’t told that story to anyone. Ever. In more than twenty years. But it had something to do with my stupid mark, so I came clean. It just took time. This matters to me. I’m not an idiot.” 

“I realize I should not have been so aggressive,” Leliana admitted. 

Katria soothed her hand along her thigh. “It has been a difficult time for all of us.” She was reminded of her first conversation with Leliana, when the spymaster was so obviously hurting from the death of Divine Justinia. Katria wondered if Leliana was resentful that she survived and not her friend. 

“You have proven yourself to be a worthy ally and a…good person,” Leliana said. 

Katria rose from the chair and slipped on her jacket. “The feeling is mutual.” She straightened her collar and grinned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can smuggle any extra bottles of liquor into my bags without Cassandra noticing.” 

Leliana smirked back at her. “Good luck.” 

The interaction with Leliana felt more satisfying than any of the others. She hadn’t really wanted apologies or for people to fawn over her like some injured lamb—she should have told them about it because it gave an insight into her mark. She wanted to be trusted and understood. Leliana seemed to do that, more than anyone else. 

Katria exited her cabin and waved goodbye to Leliana as she made her way to the stables. One of Dennet’s hands brought her horse around. As she was thanking him, she heard boots crunching in the snow behind her. 

“Herald.” 

Katria turned, one hand gripping the reins of her mount and the other rested on its chestnut colored neck. Cullen was standing behind her. “Commander,” she said, eyebrows raised. “What…can I help you with? Also, it's Katria.” 

Cullen cut to the chase, as usual. “It was incredibly dangerous for you to keep such information from us for so long,” he began. “Do you realize that you could be vulnerable to possession? To becoming an abomination?” 

Katria made an exasperated noise. “That’s not true. I’m _not_ a mage!” 

“You are,” he insisted. “Just because you had a….freak accident does not mean-,” 

“That’s exactly what it means,” she cut in, frowning. “Mages cast spells. I can’t do that. So, not a mage. Just because you’re a Templar doesn’t mean you’re the expert on this.” 

“Actually it does mean that,” he replied. “Although, I am not a Templar any longer.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Katria asked snidely. 

Cullen put his hand on his sword. “I did not come here to argue with you, Herald.” 

She snorted. “So, would you prefer I sit quietly and listen while you berate me?” 

“I wanted to ask you to be careful,” he said. 

Katria moved her hand up the reins of her horse. “I can take care of myself.” 

“We need you to close the Breach,” he insisted. “You must be more cautious.”

“Be more cautious how?” she asked. “By not going to the Hinterlands to meet with Fiona? That way we can ally with your precious Templars, and you can have _more_ of them watching me.” 

Cullen frowned. “Excuse me?”

Katria rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me just because your face is particularly well suited for it.” She knew she shouldn’t have said that. Although he was smug, stubborn and insufferably rigid, the only thing Cullen’s face could be accused of was excessive handsomeness. 

She gestured out to his fighting recruits. “I know you ordered the Templars under your command to watch me.” 

“The risk of possession is high because of the Breach,” Cullen replied. “They watch all the mages—we have to have some safeguards in place.” 

She clenched her fists around the reins in her hand. “You don’t have to safeguard me.”

“I disagree,” he said simply. 

Katria crinkled her nose in disgust. “You’re wrong, and I want you to stop. The next Templar I see watching me, I attack. With a dagger, if that wasn’t obvious.” She sidled up to him and pressed one finger against his breastplate. “That includes you.” 

Cullen’s eyebrows arched angrily inwards. “Forgive me, Herald, is this the part where I’m supposed to be intimidated?”

“Oh, no, Commander. That comes later. When you least expect it.” 

She leveled the most malevolent glare she could muster at him, until she saw a shadow at her side. Varric walked up, and he looked between the two of them, his gaze stopping on Cullen. 

The dwarf shook his head. “Curly, you are spending way too much time with a serious expression on your face. It’s bad for your health.” 

Katria let her face relax, and she sighed. “That stick up his ass can’t be too good for his health either,” she grumbled, as she tugged on the reins of her horse and marched away from them. Her comment had been harsh, probably too harsh, but she ducked underneath her bruised ego and convinced herself she need not apologize for it. She trudged across the snowy field, her mouth scrunched from her frustration. 

“Ah, Herald. I was hoping to speak to you before we left.” 

Katria reluctantly stopped and turned around. Solas. Great. The only other person in Haven she was dreading to talk to. 

“What?” she muttered. 

“I don’t think I need to explain why I have approached you,” Solas remarked. He gestured to her marked hand dangling at her side anyway. 

Katria sighed, leaning some of her weight against her horse. It nuzzled her face and then tossed its neck in the air with a whine. 

“There’s nothing else to say,” she insisted. 

“Isn’t there?” he asked. “You are an incredibly powerful mage who lost her magical abilities, only to regain them almost twenty years later.” 

“I _was_ a mage. It’s not the same,” Katria protested. “I only close rifts.” 

One of Solas’ hands dropped from his staff, so he could gesture with it. “But just think of how truly unlikely it is that you, of all people, have that mark. The magic in it would overpower anyone else.”

“Maker’s balls, Solas, don’t tell me you’ve bought into this ‘chosen’ nonsense,” Katria said, burying her face in her hand. 

“I do not necessarily think you were _chosen_ by your Maker,” he replied. “But I find comfort in knowing that maybe we have a chance—that we were destined to have a chance—to close the Breach and find who was responsible for opening it.” 

Katria risked a look at the mark and grunted. 

Solas took a step closer, putting his hands back on his staff. “I know the tragedy that befell you and your brother must be difficult to cope with. Perhaps your mark means that his death does not have to be for naught.” 

Katria briefly wondered if Solas knew that if she could have her brother back, she’d let the Breach remain open. The minute the thought crossed her mind she almost recoiled from the guilt. It was such an unethical thing to want, but Maker, did she miss him. He would have been better at this, better at being a Herald. He wouldn’t fight with Cullen, or grate Cassandra’s nerves, or fumble stupidly around nobility—Fredrick would have been worthy of the title. An _actual_ Herald of Andraste. 

Katria gave her horse a pat on the neck as she looked back up at Solas. 

“We done here?” she asked him. “Or did you want to start talking about the Fade?” 

Solas glowered at her—he was not entertained. He was _never_ entertained. The apostate turned for the stables to retrieve his mount. “I will see you soon.” 

===

~~_Ambassador, Spymaster,_~~

_Team,_

_Hinterlands expedition round two has been….enlightening. Same number of bears (seriously, what is it with this place?), but less Fade rifts thanks to our continued work. I have recruited a number of new agents, whose information is currently being forwarded to Leliana—specifically of interest would be the very hairy man I found wandering the forest. His name is Blackwall, and he’s the Warden I was asked to find. Sadly, he has no information about the disappearance of his fellow Wardens; nevertheless, he pledged himself to our cause and proved very helpful as we made our way to Redcliffe._

_I am sure your correspondence with Cassandra will adequately address the events that transpired there, and I am looking forward to further discussing the situation once we return to Haven. Needless to say, it does not bode well, and I am concerned._

_When I arrived at the Crossroads on our way to Redcliffe, a scout gave me a package from Madame Vivienne. Inside the package was a most hideous ensemble that her letter explained was meant to be a replacement for my current outfit. In the clothes I have now, she says I look like an unwashed apostate hobo, and she thinks Solas and I would make a lovely couple. Rather than waiting until I returned to Haven, she had this new outfit forwarded to me because she “could not spend another second imagining me slumming around the Hinterlands representing the Inquisition looking like I’ve been perpetually mauled by bears.” What Vivienne doesn’t know is that I am perpetually mauled by bears, and that I like what I wear. The point is, I don’t want to upset her, so Josephine, if you could find a polite way to say “fuck no” to her style advice, I would very much appreciate it._

_We should ~~be home~~ arrive back in Haven within the week._

_Katria_


	7. Chapter Seven

Katria only spent three weeks in the Hinterlands because of the urgency of the situation in Redcliffe. It was painstakingly clear to her who they should recruit now—it didn’t even matter if the mages would be more helpful or practical, there was a Tevinter magister basically at Haven’s back door who wanted her dead. Leaving the mages there to simmer in Redcliffe, when this Alexius manipulated time to put himself in a position to interact with her, was not an option. Especially when the alternative was wrangling up some Orlesian nobles for the purpose of groveling to the Lord Seeker for help with the Breach. No, the choice was obvious to Katria. The challenge was going to be articulating that to Cassandra and Cullen.

Katria had spoken little to the Inquisition’s Commander upon her return. She spent a lot of time out on the practice field, sparring with Cassandra or on occasion Leliana’s agents. He was always polite, like a good Chantry boy, but they now both skirted around topics that were better discussed in the War Room where a table separated them. Katria was sorry for the comments she made to him before she left for the Hinterlands; she had lashed out like a child and that wasn’t fair. She was still hurting from having to remember the incident from so many years ago. But that wasn’t an excuse. 

Katria had stopped her own training on the practice field to watch Cassandra and Blackwall sparring a few feet away from her. Well, she wouldn’t call it sparring so much as Cassandra knocking the snot out of their new Warden friend. The Seeker bashed her shield into him until he staggered backwards and fell onto his butt into the snow. 

He held up his hand, laughing. “I yield, I yield!” 

Cassandra lowered her shield and frowned. “I did not know you were made of glass.” 

“Bruised glass now, as it were, my Lady,” Blackwall replied, rubbing his shoulder.

“It is Cassandra,” she said, as she extended a hand to help him up. 

He gladly took it and grabbed his shield once he was back on two feet. 

Katria stepped forward, slowly spinning her dagger around her hand. “Do I get to be next?” 

Cassandra shook her head. “We are meeting in the War Room soon. I must prepare.” 

“Blackwall?” Katria asked, grinning. “I won’t make you into shattered glass if you ask nicely.” 

He chuckled as he brushed the fresh-falling snow out of his beard. “Forgive me, my Lady, but I should get better acquainted with my new living arrangements. And I’d be a sorry sparring partner in my current state.” 

She snorted. “For Andraste’s sake, my name is Katria.” 

“I know. It punctuates every other sentence that comes out of your mouth,” Blackwall replied. They both waved to Cassandra as she swung her sword over her shoulder and walked into Haven. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Katria said thoughtfully, inspecting the long blade of her dagger as it shined in the cold afternoon light. “It gets quite tiresome.” 

“Everyone here has great respect for you,” Blackwall said, lowering his shield more and walking over to her. “That is why you are not Katria to them.” 

She sighed. “Yes, I know.” Katria raised her hand to look at her mark; her eyes then trailed to the sky. 

Blackwall spoke after a few moments of silence. “So much easier to ignore when it’s far away, eh?” 

“It will only be easier to ignore when it’s gone,” she said, dropping her hand. “And we’re close. We are going to get allies and shut it. And then…” Katria stopped and furrowed her brow. 

“Then what?” he asked. 

Katria made a dismissive noise. “Nothing.” She looked back at the mark and clenched her fist around it. 

Blackwall leaned against the practice dummy posted between them. “You know, when I first got here, I wondered how you fit into all this.” 

“How I fit in?” she repeated. She gave a short laugh. “I don’t…I’ve never fit in anywhere. I’m here to close the Breach; I want to help put things back in order. When that’s done, they won’t need me anymore.”

“You won’t want to stay?” Blackwall asked, sounding surprised. 

Katria glanced up and fiddled with the red ribbon tied around the training dummy. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She pursed her lips. “I have no attachments or anything. It’s better that way.” 

“You’re more than just that mark on your hand, Katria,” Blackwall said. “I was in the Hinterlands when you first came after the Conclave. I heard about how you helped people, when you didn’t even have to, when you didn’t think you’d get recognition for it. You’re good at this, and you shouldn’t stop.” 

Katria felt herself blushing. “I was not aware that your facial hair hid such sentimentality, Blackwall.” 

He grinned mischievously. “It serves many purposes.”

She swung her dagger around her hand again. “Doesn’t serve you too well in combat, I see. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go release my frustration on something before my meeting in the War Room.” 

Blackwall clapped her on the shoulder before hiking his shield up his arm and walking to the stables. Katria stood stationary for a few moments, brow crinkled in thought, as she spun her weapon with a flourish a few inches into the air before catching it again. When she looked up, she could see Cullen from the corner of her eye. Katria glanced over at him, and his gaze quickly averted to the report in his hand. She gave her dagger another spin, to be a show-off, and walked over to him. 

Cullen handed off the report to a messenger before turning his attention to her. “Is there something you needed?” 

She was holding her dagger between them, balancing it lightly on her fingers. “Were you entranced by my skills, Commander?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Hardly.”

She flipped it around, caught it, and then tucked it into her belt with a practiced motion. “I’m sure Cassandra has been highly complimentary of my skills since we’ve been fighting together.” 

“I believe she used the word ‘adequate’,” Cullen replied, stepping aside as a recruit’s sword swung in their direction. 

“I’m genuinely surprised by that,” Katria said, snorting. She grinned up at him. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a spar?” 

He looked slightly amused. “No, you could not.” 

Katria nodded. “Of course, of course. I understand. You wouldn’t want your recruits to see you get beaten. It would be bad for your reputation.” 

Cullen actually chuckled. “Do I look like some adolescent boy who can be baited in that way?” 

Katria shrugged. “There was only one way to find out.” 

Cullen accepted a report from another solider. He paused to look at her. “You should be preparing for our meeting. Do not be late.” 

So serious again. Katria waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ll be there.” She began to walk through the sparring recruits away from him. 

“Herald-,” 

Katria turned her head in Cullen’s direction, but was distracted by violent movement beside her. A recruit, a burly young man a few inches taller than her, had been knocked off balance and was swinging his arms wildly as he fell backwards. His shield clipped her temple, which sent her falling sideways onto one knee.

Katria put her hand in the snow beside her, trying to push herself back up. Someone hoisted her up by her upper arms. 

“So much for your grace and agility,” Cullen muttered as he inspected her face. 

She felt blood trickling down her hairline more rapidly than she expected. Cullen’s words confirmed her feelings. 

“You need to go to a healer.” 

Katria drew her hand across her brow when she felt blood crawling down the middle of her forehead. “Well, shit.” She sighed and stepped back from Cullen. When she looked beside her, she saw the recruit who had hit her with his shield frozen with fear. His wide eyes were glassy, like he was ready to burst into tears. 

Katria lifted her unbloodied hand. She laughed a little. “It’s okay, really.” When his expression did not change, Katria spoke again. “Come on, what’s your name?” 

“H-H-Harrow, Your Worship.” 

She touched his shoulder briefly. “Harrow, don’t panic. It was an accident. I’m not made of glass. I’ll be fine.” 

He gave one sharp nod, but still didn’t move. 

Katria lifted her arm up to the cut, using her shirt to absorb some of the blood, which would probably horrify Josephine. She gave a nod to Cullen after he asked her if she’d be alright. She began walking down the path to the healer’s cabin. The main healer—Katria had forgotten her name—shared her space with Adan. Katria climbed up the steps to the platform and saw a woman sitting with a basket of herbs, tying them diligently into bundles. She had dark blonde hair streaked with only a little gray; her frame was lithe, especially in her long fingers. 

As Katria approached her, she looked up. 

“You’re bleeding. Profusely.” 

Katria pulled her sleeve back to look at it. It was soaked in red. “Good eye.” 

The woman stood. “The face bleeds a lot. Come in.” 

Katria followed the woman into the cabin and sat down on the chair she was led to. The woman moved Katria’s arm and applied some clean cloth to the wound, using Katria’s hand to keep the pressure there. 

Katria began to speak. “I’m-,” 

The woman looked over at her incredulously. “You really think I don’t know who you are?” She crouched down next to a trunk and began rummaging through it. “I’m Marianne, Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick. The Herald of Andraste.” 

“Katria works too,” she replied sheepishly. 

“Fine.” The woman continued rummaging, inspecting different colored bottles and placing them on the table beside her. 

“Are…you a mage?” Katria asked her. 

“No,” she replied, finally standing. “Just one of the best surgeons around. My mother was a mage.” She put her hands on her hips and exhaled. “That damned Adan has been using my things without permission again.” Marianne headed for the door. “I have what you need in my room. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.” 

Katria sat back in the chair, her hand still holding the cloth to her forehead. She didn’t get a chance to reply before the woman hurried away. Katria sat in silence for a few moments, inspecting the cabin. There was a big table across the room, and on the other side of it, Katria saw a pair of small feet, and a stack of parchment. She leaned forward. 

“Hello?” 

A head poked out from around the desk, and a body followed it. A girl, no more than ten, with a blonde braid was watching her wearily. Clutched in her hand was a dull knife—so dull, in fact, it was probably just used to cut butter. 

Katria rested her free arm on her knee. “You’re holding that all wrong, you know.” 

The girl did not reply, just narrowed her eyes. 

Katria continued. “If you really want to do some damage, you can’t be clutching it like that. Oh, and you definitely want something a little sharper. For your skill level. Me, I can kill somebody with, I don’t know, a spoon. But it wouldn’t be pretty.” 

She still did not reply, but Katria saw the way the grip on her weapon loosened. Her small eyebrows rose as her face relaxed. 

“Well?” Katria prompted. 

“My name is Bailey,” she finally said. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Bailey. I’m Katria.” 

“You’re the Herald of Andraste,” she replied, her eyes moving to her marked hand. 

Katria shrugged. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

The little girl seemed to regain her aggression. She surged forward a few steps. “You were at the Conclave—the only one who came back.” 

Just as Katria was about to reply, the door swung back open. Bailey’s face broke into a panic as she stuffed her butter knife into her belt. Marianne stopped and eyed the girl suspiciously. 

“What are you doing?” 

Katria sat back in her chair. “I was just telling Bailey about what happened to my head. Cute kid.” 

Marianne turned back around to Katria and handed her a small red bottle. “She’s my daughter.” The women watched her as she downed it in one gulp. “What _did_ happen?” 

Katria wiped her lip. The headache that was blossoming from her temple began to subside immediately. “Some recruit clipped me with his shield on accident.” She paused and moved the cloth off her head. “Probably should think of a more interesting story than that.” 

“Dragons,” Marianne suggested, as she took the bloody rags from her. “They’re always a good bet. Bailey loves them.” 

Katria glanced over at the little girl. “I saw a dragon just the other day.” 

Bailey’s icy façade was melting fast. “Really?” 

“A Fereldan Frostback. And it’s babies.” Katria scratched her cheek. “It was only for a moment. My companions ran away screaming. I might have done that also.”

Bailey was moving closer to her. “What color was it?” 

Marianne came back over with a fresh, damp cloth and began wiping all the blood off her face. The wound had already sealed itself; all that was left behind was a minor headache and a little itch. 

“Yellow,” Katria replied. 

“Oh. I like purple dragons,” Bailey said. 

Marianne stepped back once she had finished. “You’re good to go.” 

“Thank you,” Katria said, pulling herself up from the chair. 

Marianne grunted in response. She turned to Bailey. “Come help me with these bundles when you’re done with your work.” 

Bailey looked gloomy. “Yes mother.” 

Marianne disappeared, sending a cold gust of air into the room as she opened the door. Katria crossed her arms over her chest. 

“So, is it up for discussion why you looked like you wanted to kill me earlier? Or mortally injure me, at least.” 

Bailey put her small hands to her cheeks as she stared at the ground. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I get mad sometimes. My…My dad was at the Conclave. And so he’s dead now.” Bailey looked up. “Mother says it’s not because of you, she says you’re going to help us, but I just….wish he was here, like you survived. I miss him.” 

Katria opened her mouth a little, but no further words came out. She cleared her throat and nervously scratched at her temple. “I’m very sorry, Bailey.” 

The little girl shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” she muttered. 

Katria looked out the window beside the door. She was late to the meeting in the War Room now. She sighed and dropped her hand. “Listen, why don’t you come visit me later? I shouldn’t be busy. I’ve got some good stories about dragons, and they let me have all the best desserts and…I mean, it’s just, if you want.” 

Bailey wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. “Okay.” 

“Great,” Katria said awkwardly. “I’m going to…go be in charge of some things now.” She turned for the door and began heading for the Chantry after thanking Marianne briefly again. Her stomach lurched as she made her way to the War Room. She did not like to think about all the people mourning for those lost at the Conclave—especially when some of them were perfectly innocent children who did not deserve to lose their families. The guilt crawled under her skin, burrowing itself deep inside her. Someone like her emerged from this disaster alive, and other people, people with real, loving families, did not. 

Katria paused in front of the War Room. She let her forehead press against the metal band nailed to the middle of the door as she gave a long exhale. If someone would have told her a few months ago _this_ was the direction her life was going to take, she would have laughed at them. For hours. 

Her hand shot out and swung the door open. No one said anything as she stepped inside. 

“Excuse my tardiness. I was bleeding profusely earlier,” she muttered as she approached the table. 

“Is your head alright?” Cullen asked. Probably as a formality. 

Katria nodded. “Yes, apparently I have a very thick skull.” 

Cassandra just snorted. 

Leliana was standing across from her with her hands clasped behind her back. “The situation in Redcliffe is alarming, to say the least.” 

“I agree,” Katria said. She looked around at them. “We need to go to the mages. To Redcliffe castle.” 

Cullen made a frustrated noise. “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle. Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars.” 

Cassandra sighed. “Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.” 

Josephine pointed to a piece of parchment on the table. “We received a letter from Alexius. He has asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered. What exactly did Alexius say about me?” 

“He is so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana said. 

She smirked. “I get that a lot.”

“This is not a joke, Herald,” Cullen snapped. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. She would not lose her temper with him again. Hopefully. “As usual you give me far too little credit, Commander.” 

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden,” he protested. “It has repelled thousands of assaults. You cannot expect to emerge from this victorious.” 

Leliana shot a look at Cullen. “If we do not even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

“She’s right,” Katria said. “If we don’t go meet him now, he’ll find another way to try and kill me.” 

Josephine shook her head. “Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught.” She gestured to the map with the pen in her hand. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.” 

Cassandra dropped her arms to her side. “The magister-,” 

“Has outplayed us,” Cullen interrupted tersely. 

“There has to be another way,” Katria insisted. “Just because sending soldiers doesn’t solve our problem, doesn’t mean something else will.” 

Cassandra gave a sharp nod. “We cannot accept defeat now. There must be a solution.” 

Katria pointed over to her. “Can I just say that I love how in sync we are right now?” 

She frowned. “Herald.” 

“Katria,” she said back, then turned to the rest of the table. “There has to be another way into the castle. We need to catch him off his guard.” 

Leliana stepped forward, sounding slightly excited for the first time in, well, forever. “There _is_ a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen said. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” 

“That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” Leliana looked pointedly over at Katria. 

She grinned. “Send me in, and Alexius won’t be able to tear himself away from my charming smile. Probably.” 

Cullen sighed. “We focus their attention on the Herald, while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it could work.” 

The door swung open behind Katria and slammed into the wall. She jumped aside. 

The Tevinter mage from the Redcliffe Chantry—Dorian—was standing in the entranceway, grinning. 

“Fortunately, you’ll have help.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Do they not teach what closed doors mean in Tevinter?”

He winked at her. “Still charming as ever, I see, Herald.”

A scout hurried up behind the mage. “This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.” 

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along,” Dorian said. 

“This should be fun,” Katria replied with a smile. 

Cullen met her gaze. “This plan puts you in the most danger. We cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this.” 

“I don’t think you can order me to do anything in any conscience,” Katria replied, which made him frown. 

“We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait,” he said mildly. “It’s up to you.” 

She smirked. “Oh, but playing bait is one of my favorite things to do. Behind drinking and sharing my humor with the world.” 

“You have excellent hobbies,” Dorian remarked.

_“Herald.”_

Katria made an exasperated noise. “Yes, Cullen, I will play the bait. We’re going to Redcliffe.” 

“We will begin preparations at once,” Leliana said. 

Katria nodded in acknowledgement of Leliana’s comment. She wouldn’t admit it, but strolling into a castle filled with Tevinter mages was actually _not_ her idea of fun. She tried to look on the bright side of the whole situation. At least there wouldn’t be bears in Redcliffe Castle. Probably.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow--1,000 hits! Thanks to everyone for reading, and comments are always appreciated/welcome!

“Herald?” 

“Y-Your Worship?”

“…Lady Trevelyan?” 

There was a pressure against Katria's shoulder that made her body sway as she stood lethargic by the stables in Haven. She jerked her head up. 

“What?” 

There was a bewildered stable hand standing beside her. He nervously cleared his throat. “I can take your horse for you, Your Worship.” 

Katria looked at the reins resting limply in her hand. They had just arrived back to Haven after riding all day, and she felt as if she were in a fog. She nodded as she handed her mount over. “Thank you.” 

The young man gave a small bow and led her horse away. Katria placed her hands on her hips, standing in silence with her neck craned up to the sky. It was late in the evening and a heavy layer of snow was falling on the empty field beside her. Katria let her shoulders fall as she walked around to a hidden corner of the stables. 

The trip to Redcliffe had been a success—for a price. Because nothing could ever be easy for her. Oh no, even a risky mission infiltrating a castle had to turn into a _time-traveling_ nightmare where everything she loved was destroyed because she wasn’t around. Katria had accepted that she—or her hand—was fairly important to the Inquisition. Even the fate of the world. But _this_?

Katria gave a sharp exhale. “Maker,” she muttered. She pulled her coat tightly around her, rubbing her cheek against the soft collar to find comfort. It didn’t work. 

“Herald,” a voice said from behind her. 

Katria spun around and saw Leliana standing before her. Her approach hadn’t made a single sound. 

“Leliana!” Katria exclaimed, lurching forward. She raised her hands to the Spymaster’s face. She hadn’t seen Leliana since…well, since a year from now. After she’d been tortured and remained unbroken. Katria stopped before making contact with her face—her _unwrinkled_ face—realizing the Spymaster probably did not like to be touched. 

“I’m sorry,” Katria said, blushing. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re alright.” 

Leliana clasped her hands behind her. “My scouts forwarded your report about the events at Redcliffe. What you experienced was…trying, I’m sure.” 

“I’m fine,” Katria said, reaching into her jacket to feel for the familiar handle of her dagger. She sighed after a moment. “I saw you there—in the future. Which you probably already know. You were…incredibly brave. Very kick-ass. Also a little grumpy but that was understandable. You sacrificed yourself so I could return here.” 

Leliana smiled slightly. “Of course I did. One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I always loved a bargain.” 

“It was still a sacrifice and it was still noble,” Katria said. 

Leliana shrugged. “And I would do it again.” 

“As would I,” Katria replied, swallowing. 

The Spymaster looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, there was a time when I thought you’d never say something like that. I am glad I was wrong.” 

Katria smiled wanly and then hugged herself when a cold gust of wind hit them. 

“Come,” Leliana said, gesturing her towards the Chantry. “We have much to discuss.” 

“Goodie,” she muttered under her breath, as they headed that way. 

As soon as they had the heavy wooden doors of the Chantry open, Cullen’s voice could be heard drifting across the hall. 

“It’s not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared.”

Josephine was standing beside him, shaking her head. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best and tyrannical at worst.” 

Katria did not want to approach them. Her offer to ally with the mages certainly made some enemies for her. She didn’t understand what the problem was—an alliance was what they had approached Redcliffe for in the first place. The mages, or Fiona at least, had proven themselves misguided, certainly, when they indentured themselves to a Tevinter magister, but she knew that if they expected the mages to work their hardest, they had to be allies. How could they expect true cooperation from servants or slaves? And what right did the Inquisition have to do that to anyone anyway? 

Cullen spotted her as she slowly made her way over to them with Leliana. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?” he demanded. “The Veil is torn open!” 

Katria ground her teeth together. “It’s nice to see you too, Commander. How kind of you to ask how I’m faring after physically traveling into the future to fight a Tevinter magister who helped destroy the whole south of Thedas.” 

He frowned. “Is that what gave you such poor judgment in thinking that offering the mages an alliance would be a good idea?” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I was asked to travel to Redcliffe to recruit the mages. I did that. We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.” 

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!” He sighed impatiently. “You were there, Seeker, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“While I might not completely agree with the decision, I support it,” Cassandra said simply. 

Katria’s neck snapped around so she could get a better look at the Seeker. Did she just say she supported the alliance? 

“What?” 

“The sole point of our mission was to gain the mages’ aid,” Cassandra said. “That was accomplished.”

Katria stared at her for a second with her brow furrowed. It was so…practical, maybe even honorable for her to say that. It took a lot of integrity to admit such a thing when Cassandra so clearly disapproved of allying with the mages; she had said as much in Redcliffe. 

Another voice spoke up before Katria could reply. “The voice of pragmatism speaks, and here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” Dorian leaned against one of the columns in the Chantry, smirking. 

Cassandra turned to look at him. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

“Living through it would be an added bonus,” Katria added sheepishly. 

Leliana shifted beside her. “We should look into the things you saw in this dark future—the assassination of Empress Celene, a demon army….” She shook her head. 

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian said. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

“One battle at a time,” Cullen interjected, resting his palm on his sword. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the War Room.” He looked at Katria. “Join us,” he said to her, jaw clenched. “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.” 

She snorted. “And here I was thinking I’d sit out the assault on the Breach—have a drink, take a nap, maybe go for a stroll.” 

Dorian stood from his reclining position. “I’ll skip the War Council,” he said. “But I would like to see this Breach up close if you don’t mind.”

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re…staying?” 

“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Dorian remarked. “The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.” 

Katria shrugged. “I must admit, I’m surprised.” 

His expression turned moderately serious. “We both saw what could happen, what this Elder One and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will not come to pass.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future of present.” 

He chuckled. “Excellent choice, but let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?”

“Not unless there’s significantly more alcohol and significantly less red lyrium.”

Dorian smirked. “Sounds a like a party.” 

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit,” Cullen said. Because he was always talking about business. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.” 

“They will be,” Katria said firmly. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. 

Cullen only nodded in response before making his way further into the Chantry. Katria did not follow him. She instead retreated to her cabin, where she planned to lay face down on her bed and try not to have a panic attack. 

As soon as she opened the door to her room, that plan was foiled. The healer’s daughter, Bailey, was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. She had already visited twice since they met; Katria assumed the little girl appeared so much because it got her out of doing chores for her mother. “You’re back!” she said. 

Katria walked over and sat across from her, slumping down with her legs stretched far underneath the table. “I am. In so many senses of the word.”

She straightened. “I overheard some soldiers talking about how you traveled through time. Is that true?” 

Katria just nodded. 

“Are you okay?” Bailey asked.

She glanced over at the little girl. It was thoughtful of her to ask such a thing. “I will be.” 

Bailey sat back. “I guess you didn’t see any dragons in the future?” 

Katria laughed. “No, sorry. No dragons. Only demons and some grumpy cultists.” 

Before Bailey could reply, the door to her room swung open, sending a flurry of snow into the air around them. 

“I’m here to celebrate the present,” Dorian announced, brandishing a bottle in one hand. He stopped and lowered his arm when he saw Bailey. 

“Hello…child.” He looked at Katria. “That’s not yours, is it?” 

She shook her head. “No, just visiting.” 

“My name is Bailey,” she interjected. 

Varric appeared behind Dorian and made his way to one of the chairs. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said. 

Katria rubbed her brow. “You have no idea.” She glanced over at Bailey. “Time for your exit, there, kid. Adult talk time.” 

Bailey sighed and slid from her chair. “Adult talk isn’t about dragons, right?” 

Katria ruffled her hair, but Bailey batted her hand away and soothed her braid back down. “No talk about dragons.” 

“Promise?” Bailey asked. 

“Promise.” 

She scuttled away around Dorian and out the door, slamming it shut too loudly behind her.

Dorian took a seat and placed his bottle in the middle of the table. “Legacy White Shear. I found it in your ambassador’s secret stash of spirits that she keeps for your most distinguished guests.” He cracked the seal of the bottle with one hand. “What she doesn’t know is that I am the most distinguished guest the Inquisition could ever dream of having.” 

Varric made a face as he sniffed the rim of the bottle. "Are we supposed to drink this or use it to start a fire? A nice inexpensive ale would have been better." 

"I like the expensive stuff," Katria said, pulling the bottle towards her. 

The dwarf chuckled. "So you haven't lost all your tastes from your days as a noble, I see." 

There were a set of small tumblers on the table between them—Josephine had given them to Katria a few weeks ago because she said drinking straight from the bottle was ‘un-ladylike’. Katria filled up one of the glasses to the rim.

“This is a sipping whisky,” Dorian explained, as he watched Katria down her first serving in one gulp. “But apparently our Herald does not value her innards.” 

She slammed the glass down with a _thunk_. “It’s Katria.” 

Varric leaned back. “You alright, Cat?” 

Katria began pouring herself another glass. “Oh, I’m great. I’m also just apparently the _only_ thing standing between Thedas and absolutely catastrophic destruction.” Her shoulders sagged as she tried to maintain the sarcasm in her voice. “No pressure, right?”

“You didn’t realize this when you dropped out of the Fade with a giant green mark on your hand?” Varric asked. 

She sighed. “I knew I was…important. But…” Katria pressed her glass against her forehead, feeling the grooves carved into it pressing into her skin. “Now I’ve seen just how _much_ I matter. And it’s a whole fucking lot. That future was…bleak.” 

“That is a hideous understatement,” Dorian remarked. He smiled. “But you have me now. How could you possibly be worried?” 

Katria looked over at him and rolled her eyes. The Tevinter was so full of himself she wondered how he tore himself away from the mirror in the mornings. But he was also never serious, which was a welcome refuge from basically every other person she interacted with in the Inquisition. 

“Unless that mustache of yours has some huge, secret magical powers, I’m still worried,” Katria said. 

Dorian touched the dark hair above his lip. “No, sadly, all it does is add to my infinite charm.” 

She snorted, staring down at her glass and spinning it on the table. “If only charm could close the Breach.” 

“That’s your job,” Varric said. “And you’re going do it. Well.” 

Dorian held up his glass in a toast. “To a brighter future.” 

Katria clinked her glass with his and Varric’s. “A brighter future.” 

She sat back and put her palm on her temple. 

“Or at least a less red one.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon divergence....because yay?

The words on the report Cullen was examining began to blur, forcing a quiet sigh from him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, letting the missive fall back on his desk. He slowly stood from his chair and exited his tent. 

Cullen let his hand fall from his temple once he is was in view of other people, trying to ignore the sharp pain growing there. The bitterly cold air in Haven relieved his headaches at times, but not today.

Cullen looked out at the field in front of him. Cassandra was, as usual, practicing on the training dummies that lined the tents to his left. She had stopped and was talking to the Herald who had passed by with a basket of herbs. A small blonde child was waiting near her coat tails. He had seen the two of them together almost every day since the Herald returned from Redcliffe. The Herald apparently reveled in menial tasks; she collected herbs every morning and other things that didn’t befit her rank. _Not_ that Cullen agreed that the Herald should be given greater responsibilities. She had proven what she would do when given the latitude to make decisions—with the Veil torn open, the mages were a tremendous threat. A liability. And she had just invited them in without a thought. 

There was a scout hurrying towards him at an alarming pace. “Commander,” he said. “A watch guard has reported an incoming unit of Templars.” 

Cullen spun on his heel to face the soldier completely. “What?”

The scout nodded. “One has come forward as an envoy. He has asked to speak to the Herald.” 

“The Herald?” he asked, turning his gaze over to where she was still standing. “No. I shall go. Where are they?” 

“North outpost, ser.” 

Cullen started to march towards the stables. “Tell Ambassador Montilyet, Sister Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast to meet me in the War Room. I will return shortly.” 

The scout hurried after him. “And the Herald, ser?” 

Cullen sighed. “Yes. Her too.” 

He rode out to the watch post in haste, dreading the exchange he was about to have. Had the Templars heard word of their alliance with the mages and arrived to cause further trouble? 

When Cullen reached the camp, he immediately spotted a Templar in full plate armor. The young man stood at attention as Cullen dismounted his horse and approached. 

“Commander Cullen, my name is Knight-Templar Barris.”

Cullen stood in front of him and rested his hands on his sword. Why would a low-ranking Templar be the Lord Seeker’s envoy? Now that Cullen was closer, he could see that Barris was worse for wear—there was blood on his sword, and his armor was dented and filthy. They must have traveled incredibly quickly to get here, or encountered trouble along the way. 

“Why are you here?” Cullen asked him.

Barris looked mildly confused. “We are here because of the Herald.”

Dread began growing in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?” 

“She invited us here,” Barris explained. 

Cullen’s composure cracked. “She _what_?” He was astounded the Herald could be so _stupid_. What was she thinking? Inviting the Templars to Haven when they’d already allied with the mages? Fiona would be furious—she’d march straight out of their camp, and then they’d have no help with the Breach since _one_ unit of Templars would not solve their problem. 

Another horse approached them at high speed, and the Herald leapt off of it before it came to a complete stop. She began hurrying over to them. 

“I can-,” 

He spun around; upon seeing her face, he felt his temper flare. Cullen grabbed her by both arms and dragged her as far away from Barris as he could. His grip was too firm. 

“Cullen, you’re _hurting_ me,” she said, flailing in his grasp. “Maker would you-,” 

He finally stopped, but did not let go of her. Instead, he yanked her closer to him. 

“What were you thinking?” he demanded angrily. “How could you be so foolish?” 

Katria tried to pull away from him. “What are you talking about? It’s just Barris. I-,” 

“He has brought an entire _unit_ of Templars because he said you _invited_ them,” Cullen ground out.

She looked confused. “What?” she blurted out. “No. No! I didn’t invite them! I-I…I just talked to Barris. I told him that if he was truly dissatisfied with the direction the Lord Seeker was taking the Templars, he—alone—could come join the Inquisition.” 

“When did you do this?” Cullen asked, finally relinquishing her. The pain from his head lashed out suddenly, and he struggled to keep his composure. 

Katria didn’t notice as she looked down and rubbed the tender spot on her arm. “Barris spoke out against Lucius when we saw him! It was brave. So I…we were all just in camp outside Val Royeaux later that day sitting around. Cassandra was in a shitty mood. I said I needed to get some air, no one noticed. Most of the Templars were on foot when they marched. I caught up to them on my horse, followed them until they took a break, and….” 

“You, alone, just walked up to hundreds of Templars to talk?” Cullen asked exasperatedly. “How could you-,” His words dissolved into a frustrated groan. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Katria insisted. “No one saw me because I’m good at what I do. Delrin was off by himself for a moment, and…” She put her hands against her temple. “I didn’t expect him to bring friends. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to come at all. He told me he’d given his life in service to the Templar Order and that wasn’t going to change.” 

Her hands fell back to her side. “Can we at least go talk to him? Maybe he has more information for us.” 

“Fine,” Cullen snapped, and they walked back over to the thoroughly confused Templar.

“Barris,” Katria said as they approached. “It’s nice to see you again.” She stopped and studied his disheveled appearance. “Are you alright?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I apologize if our arrival here has caused trouble. I know you only meant to convince me to join the Inquisition but…” He swallowed, his eyes drifting to the ground. “We have nowhere else to go.” 

“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked. 

Barris brought his hands together, fidgeting with them as he spoke. “The Lord Seeker’s actions made no sense after we marched from Val Royeaux. He promised to restore the Order’s honor, and then marched us to Therinfall Redoubt to…wait.” He looked up at them pleadingly. “I knew what my duty was as a Templar, even though I was being held from it. I tried to be patient. But we were asked to accept so much, starting with that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changed by the hour.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a feeling that’s not why you’re here.” 

“No,” he said. “Soon, the Lord Seeker began to offer us new kinds of lyrium. Our commanders…some used the red stuff first, to prove it was harmless.” 

“They began taking red lyrium?” Cullen cut in angrily. “That’s…utterly suicidal!”

Barris looked down, ashamed. “They gave it to the lieutenants next. The knights were last. I…decided not to take it; I _knew_ that miserable stuff was risky. I remembered our conversation, Herald, and I thought…that you could help. I meant to depart alone, but when some other knights heard I intended to leave, they wanted to follow.” 

“The Lord Seeker didn’t protest to this?” Katria asked. 

“He did,” Barris said. “We heard that he planned to force the red lyrium upon us. We escaped at night, have been running since then.” 

Katria looked at Cullen. “We should bring Barris with us to the War Room, so he can tell this to everyone else. I think we should talk to Grand Enchanter Fiona as well. She is likely to be…upset if she hears from anyone other than us why Templars are here.”

“So it’s true?” Barris asked. “You truly did offer an alliance to the rebel mages?” 

“Yes,” Katria replied. She stepped towards him. “Delrin, I didn’t ask you here to play politics. I don’t expect it from any of your comrades either. We are willing to offer you a place here-,” 

“That’s not your call,” Cullen interrupted tersely. 

Katria ignored him. “We all have bigger problems than this war between you and the mages. I have seen what is at stake if we do not close the Breach. You must cooperate with everyone here. Put aside your differences so our world doesn’t fall apart.” 

Barris nodded eagerly. “Of course, Your Worship.” 

Katria motioned him forward. “Come then. Let’s go to Haven.” She waved a soldier over. “Please approach Knight-Templar Barris’ unit and inform them of the situation. Bring supplies to them as well.” 

“Thank you,” Barris said. “Thank you so much, Your-,” 

She lifted her hand, her eyes darting over to study Cullen’s still furious expression. “Don’t thank me yet.” 

The three of them returned to Haven in silence. Cullen was still seething. There was likely nothing they could say to _not_ infuriate Grand Enchanter Fiona. Even if they did convince her to stay, he already had enough problems getting the mages and Templars to get along—the Herald had no regard for how this would affect his troops. She was so foolish.

Once the three of them reached the Chantry, Cullen stopped Barris outside the War Room. 

“Wait here,” he ordered the Templar, as he led the Herald inside and slammed the door behind him. 

“What exactly is going on here?” Cassandra demanded crossly.

Cullen crossed the table, frowning. When he turned back to look at the Herald, she had her small dagger clutched tightly in her hand. 

She cleared her throat nervously. “I, ah, approached a Templar named Delrin Barris after the…incident in Val Royeaux. I told him he should join the Inquisition because he seemed dis-,” 

“You did _what_?” Cassandra hissed, turning and barreling towards her. 

Katria threw her hands up and fumbled backwards. “Please, let me explain! I realize now I should not have done that, or I should have said something, but I honestly didn’t think he’d take me up on my offer.” 

“Then why exactly is an entire unit of Templars right outside our camp?” Leliana snapped, scowling. 

“The Templars retreated to Therinfall Redoubt and began taking red lyrium on the Lord Seeker’s order, which in case you were wondering, is a _really bad_ idea. That’s why Barris is here with those men. They didn’t want to take the lyrium, and they have nowhere else to go.”

“We cannot possibly offer them a place here,” Josephine said. “If Fiona thinks we went behind her back to try and ally with the Templars-,” 

“I can talk to her,” Katria insisted. 

“You have done enough,” Cullen growled. 

She threw a scowl at him. “You are overreacting. This-,” 

“Overreacting?” he sneered. “What you have done will cause massive in-fighting among my recruits. We will have no one to help us close the Breach.” Cullen felt blood rushing to his face. “You are a glib, immature and uncaring _menace_ to this Inquisition!” 

Katria clenched her fist. “How dare you-,”

They all heard a shout coming from outside the door. 

“I demand to know the meaning of your presence here, Templar!” 

“Maker’s _fucking_ -,” Katria bolted out the door before she finished and stopped in front of Fiona and Barris. Cullen hastily followed her and saw most of Katria’s new comrades, mages, Chantry sisters, all gathered around them. 

The Herald jumped between Fiona and Barris. “That’s enough, Fiona.” 

“It is Grand Enchanter,” she snapped. 

Katria whirled around to her, teeth bared. “Actually, unless I’m mistaken, _you_ dissolved your own title when you disbanded the Circles. So you are, in fact, no longer the Grand Enchanter of anything.” 

Cullen had never seen the Herald this angry before. 

Fiona put her hands on her hips. “I demand to know why we were not told about these Templars marching into Haven!” 

“Oh, save your breath,” Katria snapped. “They aren’t marching, and there’s only about twenty of them.” 

“That is not the point!” Fiona insisted. “When you brought us on as your allies, I assumed you would not be foolish enough to engage with our enemies. How do we know they are not responsible for the Breach?”

“The same reason I know _you_ are not responsible,” Katria snapped. She stopped herself and took a deep breath, unclenching her fists. Her eyes jumped between the two of them. “Both of you— _all_ of you—need to realize that this problem is bigger than the fight between mages and Templars. If we don’t close the Breach, then the world as we know it ends.” 

Katria stood up straighter. “If that is not enough to convince you to work together, perhaps I should point out that there’s quite a lot in common between you two. Namely, in the utter and complete _incompetence_ your groups have.” 

Josephine, who was beside him, winced quietly. He guessed this was not the brand of diplomacy she wanted to use in this situation.

“No, no, it’s true,” Katria said, when they both looked indignant. She gave a derisive laugh. “First, our dear _Grand Enchanter_ thinks that it’s a good idea to indenture herself and hundreds of mages to a Tevinter magister. In what fucking universe would that ever be a good idea, hmm?” She threw her hands up. “So, I go, risk my life, and save you from Alexius’ clutches. Then, when King Alistair _banishes_ you from all of Ferelden, I am kind enough to offer you an alliance.” Katria walked closer to the mage. “Fiona, you can be as mad as you want, but at the end of the day, you have nowhere else to go because of your foolish actions. I have been nothing but kind and accommodating to you, when I could have easily asked for your servitude. You will respect all that I have offered by not endangering my efforts to close the Breach with your pathetic political dithering.” 

Katria wheeled around to Barris. “And how could one forget the utter stroke of genius from the Templars, who are apparently so brainwashed into following orders that they think ingesting _red lyrium_ is a sound idea?” She shook her head. “Your Order has failed, Barris. Probably beyond repair. If you want to stay here, you will not consider yourself a Templar, you will all be members of the Inquisition.” 

“Yes, Your Worship,” Barris replied obediently. 

“Don’t placate me,” Katria said, lifting up her hand. She stepped back and pointed to Fiona and Barris. “I want you two to shake hands, in front of everyone, and then you’re going to go back to your groups and tell them that any infighting will not be tolerated. If anyone has a problem with that, they can leave, but I imagine there will be no one willing to take them in after learning about the deplorable actions that brought you both here.” 

To Cullen’s surprise, Barris extended his hand to Fiona, and she reluctantly took it. 

Katria’s shoulders sagged. “See? How hard was that?” She looked around. “If we’re done here, there’s a giant hole in the sky that needs dealing with.” 

Without another word, the Herald spun on her heel and marched out of the Chantry.


	10. Chapter Ten

Katria’s knife was embedded in the wooden wall just above her head--she thrown it there after losing her temper five seconds into being in her room. She was lying face down in her bed, trying not to think about what sort of reception she would receive if she ever made the decision to go outdoors ever again. 

The door at the other side of the room swung open, but Katria did not move. Someone scurried up to her bed. Katria was resting her forehead on her hands, but turned her head to the side to get a better look at who it was. She was face to face with Bailey, who was leaning with her elbows against the bed. 

“What are you doing here?” Katria asked her. Her tone sounded deflated. 

Bailey leaned forward. “Are you alright?” 

She sighed and buried her face back in her hands. Her voice was muffled as she spoke. “Being the Herald…it’s really fucking hard.” She stopped. “Don’t repeat that. You know, the curse words.” 

Bailey waited in silence for a few moments. “Can I braid your hair?” 

“What?” Katria asked incredulously. When she saw the pleading look on the girl’s face, she groaned. “Maker, alright. If you really want to.” 

Katria began to sit up as Bailey scrambled onto the bed. She was rested on her knees as she scooted behind Katria and pulled her hair out of its bun. 

Katria deeply exhaled as she felt Bailey pulling at her scalp. Bailey hummed the first few minutes she worked, and Katria found herself feeling more relaxed. Maybe that’s what the girl was trying to do in the first place? 

Bailey finally spoke. 

“I know your job is hard, but you’re a hero. I want to be just like you.” 

She laughed. “I’m sure your mother has higher aspirations for you.” 

Bailey put her hands on either side of Katria’s head to remind her to keep still. “She wants me to be a healer. Like her. And my grandmother. Sounds kind of boring, though.” 

The door opened again, and Katria’s stomach dropped—probably someone wanting to yell at her for her piss-poor diplomacy skills. Thankfully, it was only Marianne. 

The healer rolled her eyes. “How did I know you would be here? I told you to come help me once you’d collected those herbs I asked for.” 

Bailey looked at her over Katria’s head. “But, Mother, I’m braiding the Herald of Andraste’s hair—it’s very important!” 

Marianne crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Katria. “Heard about what happened in the Chantry.” 

She made a disgusted noise. “Yes. I fucked up. As usual. I promise the next person to come into this cabin will be here to yell at me for it.” 

Marianne furrowed her brow. “For recruiting some Templars? Don’t let them upset you. I’m assuming you need all the help you can get to close that hole in the sky.” She sat herself down in a chair next to Katria’s table. “Mages and Templars _can_ get along. My mother had a Templar lover for thirty years, and she was a mage.” 

“A very powerful one!” Bailey added, as she reached into her pocket for something to tie Katria’s braid with. 

“Incredibly powerful,” Marianne agreed. “She was one of the best alchemists in Thedas.” 

“Really?” Katria asked. 

Marianne nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m convinced she could have raised the dead if she tried. She got pretty close.” 

Katria reached her hand behind her to feel the ridges of her new braid on her head. “What do you mean?” 

Marianne procured a small black vial from the pouch at her side. “This is a potion she made just before she died. It’ll cure the most grievous of injuries.” 

“It couldn’t save Dad,” Bailey muttered, as she moved over to sit beside Katria with her legs dangling off the bed. Katria put her arm around the girl. 

Marianne put the vial back with a sigh. “No, it could not. But it might just save you one day, darling. That’s the only thing I’d ever use it for.” 

Bailey beamed up at Katria. “Because I’m the most special.” 

Katria nodded in agreement, then winked at Marianne. “Would make an exception if Cassandra comes in right now and rips my throat out?” 

Marianne leaned back and smirked. “Oh, I don’t know, think about how much less trouble you’d get in if you didn’t have the ability to speak.” 

She laughed. “True. I would have to restrain myself to incredibly obscene gestures to make my point.” 

Katria covered Bailey’s eyes with her hand and demonstrated one to Marianne. Bailey’s small fingers fumbled with Katria’s wrist. 

“I know what you’re doing!” she said petulantly.

Just as Bailey pried Katria’s hand from her face, a knock came at the door. 

“Herald, it is Lady Montilyet. Might I come in?” 

Katria snorted. “Would you look at that? They send the only person on the team who won’t kill me. How kind.” 

Marianne stood and beckoned Bailey over to her. “Come, dear, back to work.” 

Bailey hugged Katria briefly around the waist before sliding off the bed and heading with her mother across the room. Marianne opened the door, and Bailey stood in the threshold, staring up at Josephine. 

“You be nice to her!” she blurted out, and then sprinted away through the snow. 

Marianne rolled her eyes. “I apologize for my child’s horrendous manners,” she muttered, slipping past Josephine and closing the door behind her. 

Josephine stepped further into the room. “I was hoping to discuss the situation with the mages and Templars with you.” 

Katria flopped back on her bed, staring up at the wooden beams that met in the center of the roof. “I’m sorry that I approached Barris. And I’m sorry that I didn’t think to tell you about it.” 

Josephine hesitated. “Yes. That was an oversight that could have been quite....damaging to the Inquisition.” 

“I understand that,” Katria said. “I tried to amends. If there’s something else you want me to do, I’ll do it.” 

“That will not be necessary,” Josephine said. “The situation did not turn out as bad as it could have. Thanks to you.” 

Katria looked over at her. “Really?” 

“Your behavior was perhaps too…aggressive, but what you said to Grand Enchanter Fiona and Knight-Templar Barris was correct,” Josephine explained. “We have more leverage than ever because of your generosity and their lack of alternatives.” 

Katria sighed and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I was just trying to help. Truly.”

She stepped closer. “I know that. And your efforts are greatly appreciated. You have been asked to…endure much hardship in the name of the Inquisition. We all see that.” 

“Almost all of you see that,” Katria muttered. 

“Well, it is more than clear to me,” Josephine remarked. She looked down at her writing board. “I applaud your attempt to bring the mages and Templars together. We should celebrate the occasion. With a new tailored coat, perhaps?” 

Katria glanced over at the back wall where her old jacket was hanging limply on a hook. She smirked. “That was a good try, Ambassador. Subtle.” 

Josephine looked at the coat with a grimace. “It was worth a shot.” 

The Ambassador turned for the door. “You cannot hide here forever, Herald. There are people out there more impressed with your fortitude than you think.” 

“Including you?” Katria asked, turning onto her side. 

She stopped in the threshold of the door and smiled. 

“Including me.” 

=== 

Cullen did not talk to the Herald for days after the incident with Barris. He felt a nagging to speak to her—to apologize?—whenever she was near, but hadn’t quite figured out the right words to say. He didn’t know if she was angry with him, though it seemed like she certainly had the right to be. 

Fiona and Barris’ display of cooperation did not solve all Cullen’s problems. The mages, as they arrived, still pestered him about wanting better quarters, and some idiot Templar approached him today ranting about how there were mages among the Inquisition guilty of committing crimes during the rebellion. At least he had the giant, gaping Breach in the sky to remind him of their purpose every time he wanted to lose his temper. 

Cullen was walking through the troops’ tents. He had been doing extra rounds lately to ensure that no fighting broke out. It was early in the evening, and most of his men were making their way around to find food, or most likely ale. 

A familiar voice drew him to a group of recruits settled around a table. He stopped when he recognized the back of the Herald’s head. Her brown hair was pulled back in a braid that matched the one on the blonde girl curled up next to her. The Herald was holding a glass in one hand and gesturing with the other. 

“So the chevalier, who was _completely naked_ , is now chasing me through Denerim’s market district, screaming at me about his armor. I hadn’t gotten his sword from him, so he’s brandishing it around, threatening to impale me, the usual.” 

“What did you do next?” a voice from across the table asked. 

Katria lowered her hand and shrugged. “I ran into the Chantry, of course.” 

That got a roar of laughter from the group.

She took a sip of her drink. “He was too scared to follow me—wouldn’t have been very Andrastian of him to run around naked in front of a bunch of Chantry sisters.” 

“Let’s play another round!” someone said, and Katria shook her head good naturedly. She stood from her stool and laughed. The little girl followed her. 

“They don’t pay me enough to keep losing to you lot.” 

As the Herald stepped aside, Cullen noticed the composition of the group around her. There were six of them—four mages and two Templars, sitting together and playing cards. Cullen had thought about reprimanding her for gambling and drinking with his recruits—traits he tended not to encourage in them—but perhaps she was helping with the Inquisition’s cohesion in her own way. 

Katria began moving in his direction, apparently not noticing his presence, as she looked down and talked to her young friend. Once she did raise her head, she stopped dead a few feet away from him. 

“Oh, Commander. Ah, hello?” 

“Herald.” He paused. “What are you doing out here?” 

Katria glanced back at the table and scratched her head. “That took hours you know. Getting them to sit like that. But the good news is, mages and Templars both laugh when you tell jokes about chevaliers.” 

“That is…good,” Cullen said. He felt awkward; he was glad the sun was setting else the Herald might have better seen the red in his cheeks. He looked down and caught the eye of the small blonde girl. She was glaring at him, and he furrowed his brow. She did not say anything, instead her brown eyes narrowed further, and she marched off past him. 

“Is that child alright?” he asked Katria. 

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Bailey’s fine. Just doesn’t like you.” 

“Me?” he began. “We haven’t even spoken.”

Katria shrugged. “I don’t know what caused it. She had some choice words about you, that’s for sure. I think the exact phrase was: ‘for a handsome prince, you’re kind of an asshole’.” 

“I’m…not a prince,” Cullen said. He rubbed the back of his neck. No, he was not going to be good at this. Perhaps it was best to talk about business. Cullen could do business. He straightened. 

“The mages will be ready to approach the Breach soon. I pray this will be enough to close it.” 

Katria gave him an odd look. She pulled at the end of her braid. “I…know you weren’t happy with how I brought in the mages.” 

It occurred to Cullen since he and Katria had the most disagreements about business, this probably wasn’t a good idea. “I have no intention of endangering your alliance,” he said, “but I must ensure the safety of those here.”

“I understand,” she said, not looking at him. Katria released her braid and let it fall back against her coat. “You’ll have to excuse me.” 

“Herald,” Cullen said, as she slid past him. 

She looked at him from over her shoulder. “It’s Ka-,” 

The Herald threw up her hand, stopping when she caught sight of her mark in the fading light. Her graze trailed back to him, and she sighed. 

“Never mind.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to split this into two chapters, but I didn't, so it's long. hooray! Thanks for reading!

===  
Cassandra proposed a trip to the Storm Coast as the mages and Templars continued to organize themselves for their assault on the Breach. On one hand, Katria agreed it was a good idea; there were mercenaries to meet, rifts to deal with. Oh, and commanding not-Templars to avoid.

But what if something happened between the mages and Templars while she was gone? Fiona and Barris had pledged to be civil, but what about their subordinates? Katria was desperate for everyone to get along,though she knew that was too optimistic of a goal. Yet if everything fell apart it would be _her_ fault. She’d approached Barris without even thinking of consulting Cassandra or the others. She’d just been… _alone_ for so long. There was no one she had to report to or consult with, and no one bore the consequences of her decisions except her. Now, whenever Katria made a choice, the whole fate of Thedas was basically at stake.

Katria was walking around the tents in the early evening like she had done every day for almost two weeks. The sun was setting over the mountains, making her wish she had brought along her coat to wear over her armor. Katria sighed and was about to turn back to begin the hike up to her cabin when she heard a commotion behind her. 

“Shut that mage’s mouth!!” 

“Oh, fuck me,” Katria muttered, jogging around the corner.

There was a Templar with his hands clutching the shirt of someone as he shoved them backwards. Katria ran forward.

“ _Hey!_ ” She thrust herself between them, pushing the more aggressive Templar backwards. She reached back for her dagger. “Stop, right now!” 

The young man with freckles scattered across his cheeks slapped her hand away. “I didn’t start it!” 

“I don’t care who started it,” Katria snapped, although she doubted he was telling the truth. “You don’t attack each other!” 

“You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled. “Templars are called to a higher purpose, and you dare talk to us as if we are unworthy. You are a false Herald.” 

Katria lowered her dagger. Her immediate instinct was to threaten him because that’s what she did best. Instead, she straightened and unclenched her fist. 

“I want you to leave. Now. You were given a warning weeks ago that this infighting would not be tolerated.” 

The Templar snorted. “And what authority do you have to do that?” 

“Someone proclaimed the Herald of Andraste has the _most_ authority in this camp,” a voice snapped. Katria turned around and saw Cullen approaching them. “You will address her as such.” 

Katria looked back at the Templar. “That means you leave, right now.” 

The young man turned his challenging gaze to Cullen, who gave a sharp nod. The Templar turned on his heel and shoved through the crowd that had gathered. 

“I will ensure his departure, Herald,” Cullen said, as Katria focused her attention on whoever had gotten the brunt of the man’s aggression. She walked over to the soldier being helped up off the ground. 

“Are you alright?” 

The man looked at her and nodded. “Yes, Your Worship.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Wait—you’re a Templar? Why were you…” 

He cleared his throat. “Robinson was getting aggressive with some mages—they were just kids, probably not more than fourteen or fifteen. I intervened, tried to get him to stop, and he attacked me.” 

“You stood up for them?” Katria asked. She felt Cullen standing beside her. 

“Yes. We have bigger problems to deal with. Like you said,” he replied. 

“Well, that’s…” Katria was lost for words. “I mean, thank you. Excellent work.” 

“I am honored to serve, Your Worship.” The man gave a small bow, and then walked over to a group of soldiers. 

“Alright, back to your duties,” Cullen ordered, as the group began to drift apart. 

Katria turned to him. “I had the situation handled,” she said. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I…was only trying to help.” 

She sighed. She supposed this was a marked improvement from how Cullen treated her authority a few weeks ago. She could even see the remorse on his face most days when he looked at her, but words like that hadn’t quite made it out of his mouth. 

“I know that. Thank you, Commander.” 

Katria put her dagger back in her belt. “I’ll let you get back to work.” She started to walk away from him back to Haven. 

“H-Herald,” Cullen called after her. “Or, I mean…” 

She turned back around. “Yes?”

He placed his hands on his sword. “I…I, uh, have…reports.” He shifted. “I have reports from Scout Harding concerning the situation on the Storm Coast. If you’d like to come by my office and read them. Or, I can…I can have them forwarded to you.” 

“Oh,” Katria said. “Well, yes, I can come by.” 

Cullen walked away from her, rubbing his neck again. Katria sighed. How exactly was a man so confident—overly confident—unable to string a proper sentence together that didn’t have to do with military strategy? It was _not_ mildly charming, that was for sure. Definitely not that. 

She gave a frustrated grunt. He was making it increasingly difficult for her to continue being mad at him. 

===

“Uh, Herald?” 

Katria jumped at the sound of a voice behind her and spun around. 

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. “It’s almost…four in the morning!” 

Cullen looked at her with an incredibly confused expression. He was standing at the entrance of his tent, holding the flap open with one arm. 

“This is my office. What are _you_ doing here?” 

Katria straightened and hid something behind her back. “I was…” She cleared her throat. “The reports, right? From the Storm Coast?” 

Cullen stepped fully into his tent, brushing some fresh snow off his coat. “You want to read the reports now?” 

He studied her closely. “You weren’t….rummaging through my things, were you?” 

“No, no, of course not,” Katria insisted, reddening. “I…” She looked around his desk that was cluttered with reports. She sighed when no logical explanation for her presence came to mind. Because loitering in someone else’s office in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly sensible. 

Katria dropped her hands to her side. “I came to your office because I assumed you wouldn’t be here. I was just going to leave something for you.” 

“Something…bad?” Cullen asked nervously. “Because that elf…Sera? She’s been threatening to put bees in my desk.” 

She gave a small laugh. “No, nothing bad.” Katria examined the book in her hand and then paced over to him, thrusting it into his chest. 

“I don’t want you to get any ideas, okay?” she began quickly. “It’s not…the book isn’t…I didn’t get it because I have a particular fondness for you. Or because we’re friends. I just did. Because, I don’t know.” She knew she was rambling and felt her ears reddening. “I saw it, and I knew that you had….it isn’t a big deal.”

Cullen looked down at it while she was talking. He flipped it open. 

“Oh.” He continued to rifle through the pages. “ _Oh._ ”

Cullen looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “Massache’s Method. With the diagrams. But…but how did you…” 

“How?” Katria asked. “Well, there was a dwarf in Redcliffe, a smuggler that I knew from—wait, I probably shouldn’t have said that. There was a _vendor_ whom I had met before, and he collects fairly rare antiquities, including books. He had a copy. He owed me a favor. Lots of favors. I knocked the shit out of plenty of people on his—okay, not going to admit that either. You get the point.”

Cullen looked back down at the book. “I…don’t know what to say.” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Really? Your manners are that bad?” 

He took a hasty step towards her. “No, no! _Thank you_ , of course. I am just surprised that you did this.”

“Well, I almost didn’t,” Katria admitted, scratching her cheek. “I was so mad at you a few weeks ago, I was going to give the book to Bailey and let her draw all over the diagrams. And _then_ give it to you.”

“That…would have been horrible,” Cullen remarked. 

Katria stepped by him and approached the front of the tent. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal. I was just—I wasn’t even trying to be nice, I don’t think.” She paused and shrugged. “I don’t know, I have this instinct where if I see something a person needs, I get it for them. Things weren’t…so bad between us when I was in Redcliffe, and I saw the book, and so I got it.” 

Katria gestured to him with both hands. “And now you have it. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, okay? Alright. Bye.” 

“Herald-,” 

She made a frustrated noise and threw aside the flap of his tent as she left. 

Maker, Katria wished he wouldn’t have shown up. All she intended to do was leave it at his desk, not even with a note. She hadn’t _wanted_ to give it to him after his behavior towards her concerning her alliance with the mages. What had he called her? An uncaring menace? So, the book had been sitting in her cabin collecting dust for weeks. She had no use for it. And then of course the stupid Templar had to go around looking guilty, but not actually _say_ anything to her about it. When he supported her rather brash decision about one of his soldiers, she decided to just give it to him because it _wasn’t_ a big deal. It was just a stupid book, and she didn’t want to be his friend, and now it was over. He’d still called her Herald, so obviously he was not too deeply swayed by her actions. 

Which was fine. _Totally fine._

===

Two days before their departure to the Storm Coast, Katria was sitting in her cabin mulling over the reports that had finally been forwarded to her. She despised reading them—it reminded her of her childhood at the Trevelyan Estate in Ostwick. Her grumpy old tutor always berated her for never doing her work, lacking discipline, while he positively fawned over Kate and Fredrick. Such _ingenuity_ , he said. Such _brilliance_. If their father wanted proof of his wife’s infidelity, he needed to look no further than Katria’s stupidity; she didn’t have the genius of her siblings, so _of course_ she could not be a true Trevelyan. 

A knock at the door came as a welcome reprieve to her work. She let the report she was holding fall back on the table beside where her legs were rested. 

“Come in.” 

There was a hesitation from behind the door before it slowly opened. Commander Cullen stood in the threshold, holding a medium sized wooden crate under his arm. 

Katria let her feet fall to the floor as she leaned forward. “Commander, is something wrong?” 

“What?” he said. “No! Why would you think that?” 

Katria settled back against her chair and grabbed her glass. “Oh. I assumed you’d have no other reason to speak to me.” She realized that sounded harsh. “Never mind. Please, come in.” 

Cullen reluctantly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Katria reached for the bottle beside her on the table. “Can I interest you in some Butterbile? It’s 7:28. Good stuff.” 

He walked closer to the table, but did not sit down. “No, thank you.” 

Katria poured herself some more. “What can I help you with then?” 

Cullen gently placed the box at the end of the table. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time. To talk.”

“The Commander of the Inquisition finally using his words?” Katria said, smirking. “You can have as much time as you’d like.” 

“It won’t take long,” he said. He threw a nervous glance at the box he’d brought in, which piqued Katria’s curiosity. She looked back at him as he continued. 

“I simply wanted to offer an apology for my earlier behavior. My actions were unprofessional. I did not mean, especially, the untoward things I said in the War Room. I…I take our work here for the Inquisition very seriously.” He paused and cleared his throat. “ _Too_ seriously, sometimes. I discredited your attempts at helping us, and that was wrong. I do not think you are a menace. You are....” Cullen was clearly losing his footing; Katria could see a blush rising up from his neck. “You are very….ah.” There was no hope for him now. He looked away from her and began blinking rapidly. “Sufficient.”

Katria raised both eyebrows. “Such high praise, Commander.” She gave a crooked smile. “You were really on a roll there in the beginning. Did you practice this?” 

“No, of course I didn’t-,” He stopped and looked down. “Maybe a few times. Do you accept my apology?” 

She had been taking another sip of her drink. She lowered the glass from her lips, swallowed, and waved her hand. “Certainly, Commander. No harm done.” 

“Really?” he said, looking back at her. 

Katria shrugged. “Yes, of course. I rarely hold grudges. You’d have to insult my sense of humor to get me really riled up and in an unforgiving mood.”

He smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He still seemed nervous. “I will keep that in mind.” 

She pointed over to the crate. “So, what’s in there? Bees?” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose. “It’s…for you.” 

Katria stood and rounded the table. “This isn’t necessary, Commander. Your apology was more than enough.” She dug her fingernails under the lid of the crate and pried it open. She froze when she saw a brown fox nestled inside, asleep in the corner.

“It’s a fox,” she choked out. She felt a giggle bubbling up in her chest. “You got me a _fox_.” 

Cullen began to stammer. “I-It’s, ah, because-,” 

“I know why,” she said, as she finally put the lid of the crate on the table. 

The color drained from most of his face. “Forgive me if it is not-,” 

Katria ignored him and reached inside the box, letting the fox sniff her fingers before she lifted it out. She held it near her face. “Aren’t you cute?” She was beaming, and it embarrassed her a little. The fox’s fur felt cold. 

“Someone’s chilly,” she cooed, walking over to her bed. She plucked up the blanket folded across her comforter and headed back over to the crate. Katria laid the soft cloth down and gently lowered the fox back over it. 

“You’re…alright with it?” Cullen asked. 

She laughed. “I must say this is perhaps the most unusual gift I’ve ever received.” 

“I’m sorry,” he began quickly, but he stopped when she raised her hand. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Katria insisted. “It’s good.” She peeked back over at the fox. “It is…surprisingly docile.”

“Yes. Well.” Cullen put his hands on his sword and stepped back. “I should leave you to your reports. Thank you for your time.” 

“Cullen,” she said, turning her gaze from the fox up to him. She only got a look at his back as he marched out of her room. Katria didn’t fault him for his hasty departure. The man had probably expended a lot of emotional energy doing this, which didn’t really seem like something he did on a daily basis. Or ever. 

She curled her fist around the edge of the crate and peered back at the fox. Katria felt herself grinning stupidly again, and she reprimanded herself for it. She would not be turned into some giggling, adolescent girl over this—for Andraste’s sake, she was over thirty years old. 

Katria found herself smiling about something else. He hadn’t called her Herald. To be fair, he hadn’t called her _anything_ , but that means he didn’t say Herald. It was nice to feel a little normal again.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The next day, Cullen saw the Herald and the child—Bailey?—that did not like him walking up the path from the forest. Katria was carrying a bundle of fresh herbs, and the little girl was walking beside her, holding the fox close to her chest. When Katria looked over, she raised her hand in greeting and turned towards him.

She made her way past some sparring recruits and sidled up to him. 

“Can I have a moment?” she asked. 

Cullen looked over at her. “Did you need something?” 

“You didn’t give me the chance to thank you yesterday,” she said. 

“It’s not necessary,” he told her, “It was…meant to make up for my unprofessional behavior.” 

“Well, it was very thoughtful,” Katria said, looking over at the girl, who was now rubbing the fox’s belly. “Bailey loves the thing. It’s a shame.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “Why is that?” 

Her cheeks flushed, and a slow smile crept onto her face. “It’s dying.” 

His hands dropped from his sword. “Wait—what?” 

Katria was clearly trying to contain a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately. Do you mind me asking—did you send some recruits out into the forest to find a fox for me?” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to admit that he had used Inquisition resources to track down a gift for someone to provide reparations for the fact he’d been a total prick. He’d only done it because she had gotten him that book, and he couldn’t, in good conscience, have not done something in return. Katria was watching him, grinning. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and began making a line in the snow with her boot. “The problem is, foxes are wild animals. They’re quick, usually well camouflaged. Your recruits spent a long time out there, I assume?” 

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I guess so.” Now that he thought about it, they had almost been gone the whole day. 

“They likely were unable to catch one like you asked. And probably came across that little guy,” she gestured backwards to the girl and the fox, “hiding under some roots somewhere. It’s older; you can see the gray hair on its snout. And it’s so docile because it’s quite ill.” 

Cullen sighed. Of course. _Of course_ he had given this woman a _dying_ fox as an apology. After she’d presented him with something of unprecedented thoughtfulness considering the way he had treated her. 

“I’m—I’m _very_ sorry,” he began. Katria waved her hand, then placed it over her mouth. She was trying not to laugh again, her shoulders shaking slightly. 

“Please, don’t. It’s the thought that counts, right?” Katria shook her head. “I personally think it’s quite funny.” 

Cullen groaned. “You’re not going to _tell_ anyone about this, are you?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know—it’s a great story. I could say: ‘Cullen and I have reconciled our professional differences. He got me a dead fox’.” 

“ _Dying_ fox,” he grumbled. “There’s a difference.”

“I didn’t come to make you feel bad,” Katria insisted, still grinning. “I just wanted to thank you.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “You are welcome. I guess.” 

Katria pulled the herbs bundled in her arms closer to her. “I’m off to begin preparations for my trip.” She looked up at the graying sky above them. It was probably going to snow again. “I hope the weather is a little nicer there. Maybe some sun. Or warmth.” 

Cullen smiled slightly as he nodded and watched her walk away. 

She had obviously not read Scout Harding’s reports very closely. 

===

_Cullen,_

_I regret to inform you, although I am sure you have already heard, that the Inquisition soldiers that went to investigate bandit activity on the coast were ambushed and killed. You will receive correspondence from Cass about contacting their next of kin. I’m sorry. I feel partially, if not completely, responsible for this; I should have come sooner. We began looking for the soldiers upon our arrival, but I could have gotten here faster. I’m sorry again. It’s unprofessional to dwell on my personal feelings._

_We went to track down those responsible for these deaths. They call themselves the Blades of Hessarian. Blackwall pointed out that if I were to challenge their leader to a duel, we would win the remainder of the mercenaries’ favor. So I did. He was very large, and I won. He’s dead now. Do you see how my skills come in handy? They are fairly persnickety about their loyalties, however. They insist that they serve me, not the Inquisition. But I serve the Inquisition, so I suppose it’s just semantics._

_I have recruited other agents here, despite the fact that this place is an un-populated, rain-drenched dome of terror. The Iron Bull and his company, Bull’s Chargers, are talented and rather…spirited. The Iron Bull is remaining here with me, but the rest of his company are on their way to Haven. Bull is a very large, one-eyed Qunari. (I will not admit he is terrifying because I know our Nightingale reads all my letters and admitting weakness near her seems like a bad idea.) We will be searching for signs of the Wardens as well as establishing more camps in the coming weeks. You are welcome to keep me abreast of the mages’ and Templars’ preparation for our assault on the Breach. I hope there is no further in-fighting. I am willing to bash heads to curb such childishness._

_I apologize (for the third time). I know you are busy and serious and frowning reading this—I am not good at field reports. I will strive to be more professional and briefer in later correspondence._

_Katria_

===

_Herald,_

_The deaths of those soldiers’ were not your fault in any way. We have too many men for you to hold yourself responsible for the actions of those who are our enemies. I was dismayed to hear the news also._

_The cohesion of our troops continues to improve. They have a common goal for now. I hope that this comradery they have created is not lost when the Breach is closed. Once you return from your journey, we should be well prepared to approach the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We will not fail this attempt, Herald. You have my word._

_I found no issue with your letter. You don’t need to worry about being professional or brief. I know from your reports that the stories of your adventures are never boring._

_The small child that follows you around like a duckling approached me today and asked if I would attach a note she wrote you to my letter. She takes great pains to care for your fox and is constantly asking me to pet it._

_Regards,_

_Commander Cullen_

_PS: Our Lady Seeker is Cass, now? I am glad you two no longer want to throttle one another._

===

_Cullen,_

_You might regret giving me license to be unprofessional in my letters. There will be lots of complaining about bears, Dorian and Blackwall’s bickering, and the rain. Maker, the rain. It never stops. Ever._

_We have completed our search of this area and found signs of the Wardens. However, they seemed to have moved on. Hopefully to somewhere less wet. I wish our findings would have yielded more information. Blackwall seems frustrated by this as well. Or he might be frustrated by the fact that Dorian keeps referring to him as a hairy lummox. They frequently antagonize one another, and it is only periodically charming._

_In other news, fairly soon after I wrote my first batch of letters, we encountered a dragon fighting a giant. It was magnificent. We spent a long time watching them; she won’t admit it, but even Cass was entranced. The giant stamped its feet, threw rocks, shook its terrifying tucks, but it wasn’t much of a match for the dragon. That thing shot some electricity out of its throat, and it was basically game over for the giant. Dragon flew off to an island that I have no interest in exploring anytime soon before finishing the fight, though. We took care of that. Before you complain about my recklessness, it was definitely Bull’s idea to kill the giant, not mine, and to be fair, it was in pretty bad shape. I don’t have a scratch on me, promise._

_The little duck’s name is Bailey, if you were wondering. I hope she is not compromising the “fearless, insensitive, masculine leader” image you carefully cultivate in the practice field by not petting foxes. Speaking of foxes, I’m glad mine remains in good health, for its age anyway. It will most likely die in the coming weeks, but hopefully I am there when it happens. Bailey’s father was killed at the Conclave, and I know it’s just a stupid fox, but she likes it a lot, and I’d rather be there for her when it croaks. I have attached a few words for her, but if you are not too busy waving your sword around, yelling at recruits, or arguing with Chancellor Roderick, perhaps you could tell her about the fight between the giant and the dragon? I don’t know how much experience you have with children—although I assume none will be your answer—but they positively adore nonsense like that._

_I am sorry. I have written too much again. I know you politely assured me my ramblings were welcome, but how can I be so casual when your letters never include a hint of the man underneath the armor and the ridiculous coat?_

_Katria_

_PS: I have respect for our Lady Seeker, Commander, and that’s all I’m going to say about it because she and I do both deplore public declarations of feeling._

===

_Herald,_

_While you have not found evidence of other Wardens, establishing camps on the Storm Coast has given us access to more resources, which is always a good thing._

_I told the child your story. Varric was nearby and informed me that my version was possibly “the most poorly delivered and executed story he had ever heard.” She seemed to like it, though. I am sure you would have done it more justice. Your fox is still alive._

_There is a person perfectly capable of emotions under my armor, Herald. For example, I was happy today because Harritt returned my leather gloves after a knife tore a hole in the seam on my index finger. I was also angry, at Chancellor Roderick incidentally. He will not leave me alone._

_Leliana has informed me you are on your way back to Haven. We are prepared to assault the Breach whenever you feel you are ready. You must make sure you are adequately equipped to do this. We do not know how the magic will affect you._

_See you soon._

_Commander Cullen_

_PS: My coat is not ridiculous. It is a warm, practical, and stately part of my winter attire. As far as coats go, I am not sure you have room to criticize, my Lady._

===

_Cullen,_

_If you are going to deign to insult my hunting coat, you are going to have to start calling me Katria. Saying unkind things about my clothes as the Herald of Andraste is probably considered blasphemous. Or is it sacrilegious?_

_I will be ready to close the Breach once I return. I hope it works._

_Katria_

=== 

_Katria,_

_It will work._

_Cullen_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time--next one will be longer (plus excitement!)

The Herald returned after two weeks on the Storm Coast. While she was gone, Cullen had been organizing his recruits, so that they could go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes two days after her arrival. If she seemed hesitant about assaulting the Breach so quickly after her return, she did not say anything. 

The afternoon before they were meant to march for the Temple, Cullen was discussing recent weapons requisitions with Harritt. He was standing just outside the forge, and when he finished his conversation, he turned to leave for his office. Cullen stopped when he caught sight of a figure across the fence from him, hammering away on a sword. It was the Herald—he recognized her dark braid and her long legs that were partially hidden by the apron she was wearing. 

She looked up and noticed him staring. “Hi, Cullen,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Forgive me,” he replied hastily. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Katria shook her head. “You aren’t.” She placed her hammer beside her and pulled off her heavy leather gloves. The shirt she was wearing did not have sleeves, probably because of the heat from the forge. Her forehead was slicked with sweat, and black dust was smudged across her cheeks; it made her look paler than normal. 

“Did you make that?” he asked her, motioning to the sword resting on the anvil in front of her. 

Harritt passed by at that moment and snorted. Katria playfully pushed him. 

“No,” she said pointedly. “Swords are not beginner’s work. _But_ Harritt let me make the finishing touches on this one.” 

Katria held it between them, turning it in her hand. “What do you think?” she asked. One of her eyebrows rose slightly. “Sufficient?” 

Cullen nodded once. “Sufficient.” He looked back over at her. “Shouldn’t you be resting before tomorrow? Like I said, there is no way to know how this magic will affect you.”

Katria sighed and lowered the sword. “I do not like being idle. I’m not…accustomed to it. Sitting around all day waiting until we go to close the Breach would probably drive me crazy.” 

“So you decided to take up sword-making?” he asked, brow furrowed. 

She shrugged. “Well, it seems like a practical skill to have, even in the field.” 

“I thought you were….” He stopped, considering the implications of calling her a noble—that was a group that seemed to excel at sitting idly. “Why are you not accustomed to being idle?” 

“When I was out in Ferelden, there was always something I had to do,” she explained. “Just to survive. I didn’t have a home, so I was always either looking for food, or a new way to make some coin.” Katria hugged her arms to her chest. “Those skills have been very helpful these past few months. It’s been harder for some others to adjust. Dorian wakes up every morning wondering why there isn’t a plate of peeled grapes ready for his breakfast.” 

Cullen laughed. “I can imagine that was a difficult transition for him.” His hands moved to his sword. “So, you aren’t planning on being ‘idle’ at all today?” 

“Not if I can help it,” she replied. “I’ve got some herbs to gather, a fox to bury….”

“It died?” he asked, but regretted it because it reminded him of his utter incompetence related to apologies. 

Katria nodded, wiping some sweat from her brow. “Yep. Bailey put it in the crate last night, and it was dead this morning.” 

“I’m…sorry?” Cullen shook his head. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say. “Is the girl upset?” 

A look of surprise flashed across her face, but quickly faded. “Oh, well, you know, she was a little distressed. Some tears.” Katria tugged at her collar. “I may have promised to get her another one to cheer her up, which now seems like an idiotic idea on my part.” She tapped her finger on her lips. “Although, maybe if we found a very young fox, she could domesticate it a little.” 

“Glad you’ve found something else to keep you occupied,” Cullen said. “Although, I wish you would take it easy in preparation for tomorrow.”

She grinned. “I will take your advice under consideration, Commander.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Farewell.” Cullen opened his mouth to call her Herald, but stopped himself by clearing his throat. He didn’t know how he felt about using ‘Katria,’ but if ‘Herald’ bothered her so greatly he could desist from saying it. 

On some occasions. 

=== 

The next morning, the Inquisition’s forces made their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes with the Herald. Cullen spent that time organizing the troops and giving various orders to his lieutenants. He only caught a glimpse of the Herald as she rode with Solas and Cassandra to the Breach. Once they arrived at the destroyed temple, he saw her standing by the stairwell as the mages and Templars passed her in formation. 

Her expression was placid, but Cullen could see her foot tapping the ground beneath her. He couldn’t imagine how she must have felt—his heart was racing, anxiety clenching his stomach, and _he_ wasn’t even the one closing the Breach. 

Cullen approached her, and she straightened and gave him a small smile. 

“Everything in order?” she asked. 

“Yes, Herald.” 

“Good,” she said.

“You’re feeling alright? Rested?” He was nervous about the effects this plan could have on her. He was also nervous it wouldn’t work. Or worse, that it would backfire and cause more damage. 

Katria nodded too eagerly. “I’m fine. Didn’t get any sleep last night, of course, because…” She gestured up vaguely to the Breach looming above them. “But I stayed busy. Spent five fucking hours searching the forest for a new fox. Found a cute white one, it's only a couple of weeks old.” 

Cullen pressed his lips together—he wished she wouldn’t expend herself doing such menial tasks, but he chose to remain silent. They stood quietly for a few seconds as he watched her fiddle with the ragged sleeves of her hunting jacket. 

“Josephine let you wear the coat?” he asked her. She shoved her fists into the large pockets and rocked back and forth on her feet as they stood beside each other. 

Katria looked down at herself. “I told her I needed it for emotional support.” 

Cullen shrugged. “Seems fair.” 

She didn’t respond immediately and instead exhaled out of her nose. Cullen watched his—their—soldiers to ensure they were in the right positions as they funneled into the staircase that led down towards the Breach. He and Katria needed to be there soon. 

“What if it kills me?” Katria’s voice drew his attention back to her. She was looking upwards with her arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, what if I just straight up die from closing the Breach? That would be pretty…shitty. Not that I would really notice because I’d be dead. But still.” 

Cullen resisted the urge to reach up and rub his neck, afraid if he did his words would not seem as sincere. “You’re going to be fine.” 

Katria moved her gaze from the Breach to his face. Cullen felt something from it—something odd, his breath hitched because she was _looking_ at him.

“You’re comforting me?” She shook her head and grinned. “If I ever needed a sign the world was ending…” 

“I-I wasn’t, I mean….” He trailed off and cleared his throat. 

“You were.” She gave a small laugh, the hollowness in it reminded Cullen she must still be scared. “You don’t know that I will be fine. No one knows. Yet you still tell me so because you’re trying to ease my anxiety.” 

Cullen heard rocks skidding under her boots as she turned completely to him. He placed his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting with them. She was a respectable distance away from him, but he still felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Thank you for your kind words.” Katria stopped and then opened her mouth like she was going to speak again. She pushed her hair out of her face instead, furrowing her brow in thought. “Well, I was planning on saying something witty, but I am at a loss because I’m about to use a terrifying amount of magic to close a hole in the sky that leads to the world of demons in a feat that will be talked about for generations.” 

Cullen saw Cassandra appear at the top of the stairs near them. “Herald!” 

“Katria!” she shouted back to the Seeker, which made one corner of Cullen’s mouth turn up. 

Katria gave a brief nod to him and said nothing more as she made her way quickly over to the Seeker. Cullen followed behind his troops a few minutes later. As they fanned out around the destroyed temple, Cullen looked up at the Breach—the magic in it hummed around him, pricking his skin and drawing an ache to the base of his skill.

He looked back down at the Herald. Some of her hair had been pulled out of her bun, her fingers just peeking out of the edges of her coat. She stood with a determined stance, shoulders back, but she still looked _so small_ compared to the Breach above her. He did not understand how she— _her hand_ —was going to close the absolutely terrifying hole in the sky. Cullen knew that she did not believe she was chosen for this, or that anything that happened was a miracle, but he could think of no other explanation. 

Cullen sighed and rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. He said a quick prayer to himself—to protect her—and then looked back up at the sky.

“Please let this work,” he muttered out loud.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Katria mostly stood apart from the celebrating after the Breach had been closed—not that she didn’t like a good drink and some dancing, but because whenever she looked up at the sky, she was relieved, of course, yet also overwhelmed. She was no longer just some figure jaunting around the Hinterlands, a part of a small, but quickly growing Inquisition—she had _succeeded_. The Breach could be seen all across Thedas, and she had closed it. People would speak of it for years, decades; her name would be recorded in history. She did not understand how she could have become so important. It was just too jarring. 

Katria was holding a glass in her hand and took a long sip of her drink, wincing at the burning in her throat. It was something Bull had given her; she reminded herself not to accept drinks from him again. 

Bailey was running up the steps beside Katria, and stopped and beamed when she reached her. “You’re such a hero,” she gushed. 

Katria grunted in response. She looked down at the girl. 

“Where’s your fox?” 

“In your room,” Bailey replied. “I fed him and put him in his crate. Don’t forget to play with him later! I have to help Mother with chores again.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish I got to close the Breach. I bet I wouldn’t have to do chores then.” 

Katria snorted. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.” She waved her away. “Now go before you’re late and your mother thinks I’m a bad influence on you.” 

Bailey skipped off, and Katria turned her attention up to the dark clouds swirling in the sky where the Breach used to be. She heard someone else approaching. 

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” Cassandra said. “The Breach is sealed.” 

“Really?” Katria replied, finishing off her drink in one last gulp. “I assumed that everyone was celebrating for some _other_ reason.” 

The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “I will let you get away with that one, only because you were the one that did the sealing.” 

She grinned. “You are so kind.” 

Cassandra looked out with her at the couples dancing by the fire. “There are reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain.” 

“Important questions,” Katria said. “Like who in Andraste’s name opened that forsaken hole in the first place, why are the Templars taking red lyrium, what even is this ‘Elder One’ I heard about in Redcliffe because he seems like a prick.” 

“Leliana’s agents have had no luck locating the Templars,” Cassandra said, lacing her hands together behind her. “Therinfall Redoubt was empty when they arrived.” The Seeker turned to her. “You do not have to dwell on these questions now. What happened today was a true victory. Word of your heroism has spread.” 

Katria crinkled her nose. “You know how many were involved. Luck put me at the center.” She sighed. “Although, I don’t even know if that’s the right word for it.”

Cassandra nodded. “It was a strange kind of luck. I’m not sure if we need more or less.” 

“Less,” Katria interjected. “Definitely less.” 

She smiled slightly. “This was a victory of alliance. One of few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.” 

Katria looked at her hand, flexing her cold fingers in her glove. New focus away from her, she hoped—maybe. The Inquisition no longer needed her mark because the hole in the sky had been closed. Katria wondered if they would cast her out; she wondered if that would be something she wanted. The pressure that had been building on her to succeed, to save the world, had been wearisome. But Katria wasn’t sure she missed her old life so much. She had no true friends or family out there, wandering Ferelden, mostly by her own choice. She couldn’t lose things she never had that way. But those same things—friends, family even—were seeping back into her life. Katria didn’t know if she wanted to turn away from it, even if it was the logical thing to do. 

Katria jerked her head up at the sound of a bell clanging in the distance. She saw soldiers running to the gates, swords drawn, and then Cullen among them, shouting orders. 

“Forces approaching! To arms!” 

_Forces?_ Katria looked out past the timber wall of Haven and saw hundreds of lanterns and shadowy figures, amassing on the mountainside. 

“What the…?” Cassandra grabbed her arm. “We must get to the gates!” 

Katria leapt down from the ledge and followed her, letting her glass drop from her hand and plop into the snow. So much for celebratory drinks. She followed Cassandra down the steps past her cabin to where she saw Cullen, Josephine and Leliana gathered by Haven’s gates. 

She slid to a stop in front of them, her boots crunching under the sheets of ice on the ground. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra said urgently. 

“One watch guard reporting,” he said. “It’s a massive force. The bulk over the mountain.” 

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked. 

“None,” he replied, a grim expression on his face. 

Her eyebrows rose. “None?” 

Katria made her way down a few of the steps. “Marvelous,” she said. “Because we _clearly_ have not been busy enough today.” 

There was a loud pounding at the gates. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” a strangled voice exclaimed. 

Katria approached the doors. There was a massive soldier with an axe ambling towards her, until he stopped, arched his back, then fell forward into the snow, dead. A young man was standing behind him with a bloody dagger in his hand. He was thin and very pale—most of his face was obscured by a broadly-brimmed hat. 

Katria pulled a sword from its place on her back. “Thanks for that,” she said. “Now who are you?” 

She heard Cullen jog up beside her, weapon drawn. He stood slightly in front of her, his sword between her body and the young man’s.

“I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.” 

“While I pretend to know most things, _this_ is not one of them,” Katria replied, looking out at the dark horizon. “Who is coming to hurt us?” 

Cole stepped closer to her; she could see his ice blue—almost white—eyes under his hat. 

“The Templars come to kill you.” 

“Templars?” Cullen burst out angrily, pushing himself further between them. The boy jerked backwards. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” 

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” the boy explained. “You know him? He knows you.” Cole turned his attention back to her. “You took his mages.” 

“I didn’t take anyone!” she protested. Katria put her hand to her temple—at least this explained why the Templars left Therinfall Redoubt.

“He’s very angry you took his mages,” Cole whispered. 

“Yes, I can see that,” she said, sighing in frustration. Katria turned to Cullen. 

“Any ideas, there, Commander? I’d like to live until, I don’t know, tomorrow.” 

“Haven is no fortress,” he said, frowning. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!” 

Katria nodded in acknowledgement of his order and motioned her companions down past the gates. They reached the north trebuchet first and set up to defend it so it could fire.

That was easier said than done, as usual. The Templars in the Hinterlands were good, able-bodied warriors, but _red_ Templars— they made things considerably more difficult. They were stronger, yet stripped of their humanity. Some of them were giant, howling _beasts_ with red lyrium growing on their backs and shoulders. And then _of course_ those shards of lyrium shot out of them like missiles—one of which barely missed Katria as it barreled towards her and then shattered the wooden box directly behind her head. 

She dropped to a crouch and rolled out of the beast’s view, as Cassandra used her shield to block another blow from the front. Katria drove her dagger into the monster’s side, and it let out a strangled shriek. She staggered backwards, drawing her knife out with her, just in time to spin around and parry a blow from a red Templar—not a monstrous one, instead, just a normal, helmeted soldier with bloodshot eyes and fat, purple veins visible on its face. Katria pushed the momentum of the Templar’s blade to the side with her daggers, drawing one out in a quick slash across his neck, splattering blood in an arc across her coat. 

“Help for the mage, please!” she heard Dorian exclaim from behind her.

Katria spun around and leapt up the stack of boxes separating them. She landed, daggers first, on the Templar approaching Dorian then rolled off him. There was an archer near them lining up a shot towards Cassandra. Katria kicked the soldier in the knee, sending his arrow flying up high into the air, and put a dagger into his back. She pulled out her blade and let him crumple in a heap beside her. 

As she turned, a shield slammed into her upper body. Katria was thrown backwards, one of her daggers flying from her hand, before she landed on the ground with a heavy _thud_. Her ears were ringing, muffling any other noise from the battle, and she could barely make out the shape of someone rearing back to plunge their sword into her stomach.

Instead, the resounding clink of ice hit her ears, and the Templar above her froze into a solid chunk. Katria rolled off the ground as Cassandra’s shield made contact with its back and shattered the figure into hundreds of icy pieces. 

Katria returned to the path leading up to the trebuchet, ducking as a Templar came at her swiping his sword sideways. She popped up on the other side of him, her feet leaving a wide arc in the snow, just in time to see an arrow fly through the air and bury itself in the soldier’s neck. 

“My thanks to Bianca!” she called out to Varric, as she kicked a crouching archer directly in the head. Blackwall slashed the man across the chest as he fell to the ground. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, probably in reference to the poor condition of her face. 

Her ears were still ringing, and she felt woozy. 

“I could do this all day,” she said.

Katria looked towards the trebuchet to check on the health of her remaining companions. 

One of Cullen’s soldiers called out from the platform. 

“All clear! Firing!” 

With a loud creak, the trebuchet fired into the swarm of Templars ahead of them. 

A head poked out from around the wooden supports. “They felt that!” The soldier exclaimed. “We’ll reload. You get to the other trebuchet—it isn’t firing!”

Cassandra motioned her and the others further down the snowy path, past the forge, and up to the south trebuchet. Katria snuck up on, and took down, a Templar Knight with a tower shield before the rest of her team fanned out and dealt with the others. 

“Probably a good idea to load up that trebuchet, Cat!” Varric shouted up to her as she stood on the platform. Katria returned her daggers to her back and began turning the wheel, bracing her body to apply the most force. Iron Bull probably would have been a better choice for this job, but he seemed to enjoy killing things more than anything else. As she turned the wheel, an arrow whizzed by her thigh, embedding itself in the wooden beams beside her. She gave a hiss as the tip of the arrow grazed her thigh. 

“Sorry, Herald!” Blackwall yelled, as he yanked his sword out of the archer who fired the shot. 

“For Andraste’s sake, it’s _Katria_!” she shouted back.

After a few last, labored turns, she signaled to the other soldiers. The trebuchet sprung back up, launching its payload high into the mountains above them. The ground shook under their feet as tons of snow and rock were loosened and released onto the Templars on the mountain pass. The avalanche extinguished the bobbing lights approaching Haven, hopefully killing most of the Templars with it. 

There was a triumphant cry from the Inquisition soldiers, and then with it, a high pitched screech that echoed through the sky. Katria caught a glimpse of a giant ball of energy just as it slammed into the trebuchet, sending her flying backwards, her body skidding across the snow. 

She scrambled up and saw a massive pair of wings swooping over them. 

“Shit! Who ordered the end of the damn world?” Varric exclaimed. 

Katria staggered on her feet as pain shot through her head. 

“Everyone get to the gates!” she ordered. There was no use in fighting that dragon or whatever the fuck that thing was. 

They sprinted back up to Haven—they encountered Harritt on the way, and Katria helped him get into the forge. As they approached the gates, she saw Cullen urging his soldiers inside. 

Katria hurried in past him as the doors were closed. Her knees almost buckled beneath her when the dragon soared over them. 

“Cullen-,” 

He passed her. “We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against that beast!” When he threw his hands up in frustration, Katria understood that he, like her, knew nothing was going to stop that dragon from destroying every corner of Haven. 

Cullen finally looked at her. “At this point, just make them work for it.” 

Katria hurried up the steps. She could still hear pockets of fighting inside the walls. She forced herself to take a deep breath and not look towards her own cabin—Marianne was a smart, strong woman, she knew if Bailey just stuck with her mother, she’d be fine. 

“We need to round up the villagers,” Katria said, pulling out her daggers. 

If these foolish Templars really wanted to come through their walls, the least she could do is make them pay for it. 

===

Cullen reached the Chantry, and the news from his captains was nothing but bad. That dragon would tear through everything in the valley and not leave a trace of life. He angrily clenched his fists at the thought—he wasn’t supposed to fail the Inquisition like this, and he _had_. 

Villagers and soldiers continued to stream into the building. Eventually, the Herald slipped through the doors of the Chantry behind her comrades, resting her palms on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. One side of her face was entirely red—a Templar must have hit her, hard, with their shield.

The main Inquisition healer—Marianne, maybe—hurried up to the Herald and pulled her up from her crouching position to better inspect her face. 

“Any injuries?” she asked—her tone was hardened, imposing.

Katria shook her head, although Cullen could see where her trousers had been ripped from a cut on her thigh. “I will be fine, Marianne. Where is Bailey?” 

The healer knelt down and inspected the cut on her leg. “She’s fine. Right over there. Told her to wait until we found out what in Andraste’s name we’re supposed to do.” 

Katria looked in the general direction the healer was referring to. She swallowed. 

“Marianne….”

“What?” The woman stood and turned. Cullen looked himself and saw no one—the child was gone. He heard Marianne give a strangled cry. 

“W-What? No! Where did she…” 

Cullen turned back to them and saw their eyes lock on the doors to the Chantry. The healer immediately lunged for them, but Katria grabbed her shoulders. 

“Marianne!” She continued to try to steady the woman. “ _Marianne_ , I will go. I know where she is, _I will go._ ” 

“Herald, wait,” Cullen interjected hurriedly. “It’s too-,” 

Katria began pushing open the door with both palms. 

_“Herald!”_

She was gone by the time he reached her, his soldiers starting to pull the doors shut behind her. 

“Maker’s breath,” he growled, clenching his jaw. Why did she always insist on being so reckless? Although he supposed it didn’t matter. They were trapped and all dead anyway.

“Wait!” a voice called. 

Cullen approached the door and saw the sallow-looking boy that had warned them about the Templars. He had his arm around a badly injured Chancellor Roderick. They staggered inside, and Cole—that was his name—deposited Roderick on a nearby chair. Marianne knelt down beside him, moving aside the folds of his Chantry robes.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked him. 

Cole spoke instead. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” 

“What a charming boy,” Roderick said, his voice ragged. 

“Indeed,” Marianne murmured, as she inspected his wound. Her face indicated that she did, in fact, agree with Cole. 

One door creaked open again, and Cullen almost sighed with relief when he saw Katria wobble through it. She was holding Bailey across the chest in one arm, her bloody dagger clutched in her other hand. There was blood splattered on both of their faces. 

Katria let the girl fall from her grasp, and she hurried towards her mother. 

“You—you _foolish_ girl!” Marianne almost shrieked, as she gathered her daughter in her arms. “What were you thinking? How could you…” 

Cullen quickly walked over to Katria, who was standing beside Cassandra and being reprimanded. 

“Are you alright?” the Seeker demanded. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Katria insisted. “She was in my cabin. The fucking fox was there.” 

“You should not have gone out alone like that,” Cassandra said, but Katria cut her off. 

“What does it matter?” she said, scowling. “We’re overrun.” 

Cullen sighed. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” 

Cole stood from his position beside Chancellor Roderick, his giant hat obscuring most of his face. “I’ve seen an Archdemon,” he began. Everything he said sounded hollow and haunting. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” 

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Cullen snarled. “It cut a path for that army! They’ll kill everyone in Haven.” 

Cole shook his head slowly. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” 

“Of _fucking_ course,” Katria snapped, lifting up her hand to look at her mark. 

“He wants to kill you,” the boy said. “No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.” 

Cullen raised his hands in exasperation. “You don’t like….?” He shook his head and stepped in front of her. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

Katria raised her hand to her temple. “Cullen, that’s suicide!” 

“We’re dying, but we can decide how,” he said firmly. “Many don’t get that choice.”

She exhaled deeply, letting her shoulders sag. 

“Yes, _that_.” Cole waved his hand to get their attention. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.” 

The Chancellor slowly stood, using the back of his chair as support. “There is a path,” he said weakly. “You wouldn’t know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape.” He shook his head. “She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could…tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” Katria asked. 

The Chancellor turned his gaze to her. “It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start—it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…” Roderick let his hand slide from the chair as he staggered closer to her. “I don’t know, Herald. If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

“No,” Katria said immediately. “I— _fuck_.” She turned to Cullen. “I will go meet—meet this asshole, and it should provide enough of a distraction for you all to escape on this path before I launch the trebuchet. It’ll bury him, bury the Templars.” 

“Bury _you_ ,” Cullen said. “How do you plan on escaping?” 

Katria didn’t reply and marched past him. She crouched down in front of Bailey, who was pressed up against a stone column with the fox cradled in her arms; he could see where it had bitten her hand, probably out of fear. 

Katria began removing her jacket. “Take this, you foolish girl,” she said gruffly. “It impairs my movement anyway. Risked your life for a fucking fox, but couldn’t remember your own coat.” She helped Bailey thread her arms through it, and Katria rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Maker, your mother’s an idiot for letting you hang around me.”

Katria gently pried the fox from her hands and dropped it into the oversized pocket, buttoning it shut.

“Are you coming back?” Bailey asked. 

Katria gave no response and hugged the girl so tightly her knuckles were white. She released her and stood, spinning on her heel to face the doors of the Chantry. Her mouth was set in a determined line. 

Katria approached Cassandra, who was waiting with the rest of the Herald’s party. “Cass, I want you to go with them. You’re the Right Hand of the Divine, you’ll be needed after this. The Inquisition can’t have a dragon falling on you.” 

To Cullen’s surprise, Cassandra shook her head once and spoke in a firm voice. 

“I fight at your side, Herald. Always.” 

“And you call _me_ reckless,” she muttered. Katria unsheathed the dagger at her back and spun it around her hand. Her eyes swept over the rest of them. “I’m the only one the Elder One wants, so you fight with me now, but when I give the order, you return to the Chantry and escape if you can. No exceptions.”

They all gave reluctant nods as Cullen gestured to the soldiers waiting by the door. “They’ll help you load the trebuchet,” he told the Herald. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” He watched as she walked away from him. He knew she had to, but he did not want her to leave. 

“If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.” 

She had her back to him, and only turned her head to meet his gaze. She actually laughed. He realized just how blue her eyes were in that moment. She did not say anything to him, instead she looked at her companions and grinned. 

“Any ideas for my famous last words?” 

Varric, of course, made a suggestion, but Cullen did not hear it as the doors swung open and the wind howled from outside. They all disappeared, Katria leading, and the doors were shut firmly behind them. 

Cullen turned and threw up his hand. 

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” 

He forced himself not to look back at the door again. He owed it to the Inquisition—to the Herald—to do whatever was necessary to get their people out of Haven, and that meant not being distracted by the utter dread and guilt he felt for sending her out to trigger an avalanche on herself. Cullen also tried not to think about what would happen if their plan didn’t work—he truly believed in her ability to do this. Probably more than she believed in herself.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

“Nothing yet, ser.” 

Cullen looked up, a gust of cold wind hitting his face as he scowled. “Keep looking.” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

Cullen watched his soldier disappear, and he continued to pace in front of the fire beside him. They had escaped Haven hours ago. He had watched as a _mountain_ fell on their old camp, burying everything in it—including the Herald. Cassandra and the others arrived safety, but had no word on what happened to Katria. Cullen sent out scouts to search for her, but they hadn’t come back with anything. On top of that, they continued to have to move their group further into the mountains for fear of being found. Their current location was secluded and shielded from the harsh weather, so Cullen was confident they could remain stationary for a while. Not that it would help find the Herald faster. 

Cassandra hurried over to him—she came by about every two minutes demanding to know if there had been any progress in the search. 

Cullen shook his head before she even spoke. “Still nothing.” 

“This is not acceptable, Commander,” Cassandra sputtered.

“I have sent out everyone we can spare to search for the Herald,” Cullen insisted, throwing his hand out. “I am doing everything I can, but we might have to accept the fact that she-,” 

“We can find her,” Cassandra snapped. “We have to.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at the ground. “I shall go. I should not sit here and complain.” 

Cullen put his hand against his temple, sighing. “You can’t head out there alone. I will help.” 

“That is not necessary,” she said. 

“It is, actually,” he replied. “We have to find her. If we don’t…” He shook his head. “Come. We should hurry.”

They brought another soldier with them, setting off in the direction the Inquisition had traveled to get to their current camp. A storm had advanced on them in the night, making their visibility close to zero. The snow was incredibly deep—Cullen was stuck up to the middle of his boots after each step, which made their pace agonizingly slow.

They reached a mountain pass near the camp, and Cullen stopped at the ridge, trying to look out below him, but he saw nothing but darkness and a constant flurry of snow. 

He sighed, the sound whisked away by the wind. “Cassandra…” 

The Seeker shook her head. “No. No! Keep searching.”

“We don’t know if she survived the avalanche,” Cullen said, squinting at her in the darkness. “Even if she did, we don’t know where we are right now, so-,” 

Cassandra slammed her palm into his breastplate and pointed out into the darkness. 

“Did you see that?” 

“See _what_?” Cullen asked. 

The Seeker raced down the icy slope below them without replying. 

“Cassandra!” he shouted after her, before groaning and carefully following her path. 

He reached the bottom of the incline and ran after Cassandra’s shadowed figure. Cullen made it a few more feet before he heard Cassandra shout, her voice echoing off the rocks surrounding them. 

“I found her!” 

Cullen surged forward and could see the Seeker on her knees beside a body half-buried in the snow. It was the Herald—he knew because her mark was shining in the darkness, crackling with energy, while the rest of her body was slumped forward. 

“Is she alive?” Cullen demanded, dropping down beside her. 

“She is not awake,” Cassandra said, as she turned the Herald over. Her face was pale—almost a deathly shade of blue, and her body felt frozen solid. “But she is breathing. We have to get her back to camp right away!” 

Cullen shoved his hands into the snow around her and hoisted her up. He put an arm on her back and under her knees. They made much better time back to the Inquisition camp—the Herald’s bitterly cold, unconscious body was good motivation to move quickly. The soldier they were with sprinted ahead to find Marianne. 

The healer was waiting at the edge of the camp when they ran up. 

“This way,” she ordered, marching to a tent nearby. Marianne held open the flap for him as he ducked down and carried the Herald in. He placed her down on an empty bedroll. 

“I’ve summoned that apostate and the Tevinter, her friends,” Marianne said, as she began inspecting Katria’s head and face. “They will be able to warm her up.” 

She moved down to the Herald’s chest and stomach, shoving aside her hunter coat. The dark color of the fabric had camouflaged the massive blood stain now visible on her lighter colored shirt underneath. 

“I need you to get out,” Marianne said. 

“Is she going to-,” 

She walked over and urged him backwards with both hands. “I said out!” 

Cullen hurried for the threshold of the tent, still stammering. “You need to tell me if-,” 

“Go!” 

Marianne shoved him out of the tent—being bossed around by a tall, blonde woman made him feel like he was thirteen and getting pushed around by his older sister. Solas and Dorian appeared and swept past him before he could say anything. 

Cullen put his hand in his hair as he stood helplessly in front of the tent. They had _found_ her. That should have been the end of it—she was alive and there was nothing to worry about. Cassandra joined him as he paced back and forth in front of the fire, stopping to hear periodic reports from his watch guards. 

He didn’t know how long they waited; it felt like an eternity. There was not much noise coming from the tent, except for an occasional clipped order from Marianne. He felt the magic Dorian and Solas were using—it pricked at his senses—but it was weak. They were tired, like everyone else. Cullen hoped it would be enough. 

Eventually, Marianne poked her head out of the tent. Cullen tried to read her expression, but she was stone-faced, like always. Cassandra jumped in front of him and bolted past her. 

“Is she going to be alright?” the Seeker demanded. 

Cullen followed her. The Herald was still lying on the bedroll, her hands folded on her stomach. Her face had regained some of its color, but her brow was coated in sweat. 

Marianne exhaled through her nose after a few moments of silence. “No, she won’t.” 

“What?” Cullen snapped abruptly. “ _Why?_ We found her! She’s here. How could you…” 

The healer gently lifted the blanket off the Herald. There were white cloths wrapped around her stomach, and he could see splotches of red breaking through the fabric. 

“This wound has been bleeding out for hours. She was punctured by wood, metal, something heavy.” Marianne gestured to Katria’s face. “Severe head trauma, broken collarbone, several broken ribs.” 

“Solas! Dorian!” Cassandra snapped. “Do something!” 

The two mages were seated in the corner. Dorian shook his head. “We have done all we can. Magic does not fix all wounds, you know that.” 

“There has to be something you can do,” Cullen said in a low voice. 

Marianne frowned. “I’m sorry. There is not.” 

“So what?” Cassandra began angrily. “We just wait for her to die? Get another healer, they can-,”

Marianne raised a hand to stop her. “Seeker Pentaghast, we are in the middle of a deserted mountain pass. We have no resources. This woman was caught in an avalanche and forced to stagger for _hours_ through a blizzard with many severe injuries. She will die, probably soon. I am the best healer here, the best for miles around—there is nothing we can do.” 

“That is…that is _unacceptable_ ,” Cassandra growled.

The flap of the tent was flung open again, and a small figure hurried into the room. 

“I told you to stay out,” Marianne said firmly. 

Bailey looked up guiltily at her mother as she held tight to Katria’s hand. She still had on Katria’s jacket, and he could see the small white fox peeking out of her pocket. “Please, Mother, she’s going to live, right? You can help her?” 

Marianne sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “No. I cannot.” 

“ _But_ …” Bailey flung herself over the Herald’s chest, clinging to her shoulders. Cullen heard her muffled crying and clenched his fists. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the tent.

The cold air felt good on his face. He had begun to feel like he was suffocating in there—blood had rushed to his temples, his stomach turned. They had found her, but she was going to die anyway. Cullen walked further from the fire, staring down at the snow swirling around his boots. He tried to take deep, calming breaths. _What_ in Andraste’s name were they going to do now? Where were they supposed to go? 

Cullen buried his face in his hands; he stood like that for a long time. He could still hear Cassandra shouting from the Herald’s tent. Eventually, Leliana and Josephine’s voices. More arguing. He began to feel very cold, even felt it in his bones. The wind and falling snow had stopped at some point he didn’t notice, and the air stilled around him—frozen and heavy. 

“Commander.” 

Cullen let his hands drop from his face and turned. Marianne was standing behind him, expression still stoic. 

“Yes?” 

She marched up to him and looked him straight in the eye. “Is the Inquisition going to survive without the Herald?” 

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. We might not have survived _with_ her.” Cullen looked out into the darkness. “There are still rifts, even though the Breach is closed. She’s the only one who can seal them. She’s the only one who came face to face with that Elder One. If she dies, we won’t know what he said, what he wants, if he’ll attack us again.”

He turned back to the camp. “And that’s just how hopeless we are in strategy. Katria is…she was meant to be a symbol for these people. To be a hero. And this Elder One killed her. Hobbled us. No one will believe in our cause anymore. When they finally recognize the threat this creature poses, it will be too late.” 

Marianne carefully clasped her hands in front of her and looked up at the sky. She closed her eyes, like she was making a silent prayer, and then turned to look at him. 

“Thank you, Commander,” she said. 

Cullen listened to her walk away, and a few minutes later, headed back over to the fire. Cassandra was sitting close to it, jaw clenched, brows knit together, in a furious expression. 

“I _should_ have stayed with her,” she ground out. 

“That wouldn’t have helped,” Cullen told her. “You’d just be dead too.” 

The Seeker jerked her head around to glare at him. “She isn’t dead yet!” 

He reached down and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He gave her one last squeeze and then let go. “We should let Josephine communicate this news to the others. She’ll know what to say. I need to take stock of the recruits, our supplies…” 

Cassandra did not reply to him, just continued to stare into the fire, so Cullen left her there. He gathered reports from his captains for an hour or two—his exhaustion weighing heavy on each conversation, each step he took. The work he was doing felt utterly hopeless. Their chances of succeeding had died with the Herald—whatever they did now would probably only delay their demise rather than avoid it. Maybe Katria had been right. Maybe she wasn’t chosen—not a Herald, just an accident. He should have been more honest with Marianne. In their current state, the Inquisition was nothing without Katria. 

===

There was something incredibly odd to Katria about waking up without pain. More times than she could count after a fight, she could remember rousing from her sleep with aches shooting through her body. That, however, was not happening to her now, and it was disconcerting. There had been an avalanche…a dragon…so much fucking _snow_.

And now there wasn’t. She was looking up at the brown canvas top of a tent, stretched on a bedroll. Her arms and legs moved easily as she tested them. A spot on her side felt tight, itchy, but it was not any feeling of pain. Katria hesitantly slid her palms along the bedroll and pushed herself up. 

The entrance of the tent was flung open, and Marianne appeared. She did not look surprised to see Katria awake. 

“What…” Katria shook her head. “Am I dead?” she asked. She looked around the dark tent. “Is this the Fade? Because if so, no thank you—it’s cold and shitty and far too close to reality. I would prefer a beach, some cake. A handsome warrior with great arms.” 

Marianne looked at her pointedly. “You’re not dead.” 

“But…but the avalanche, Haven, _the dragon_.” Katria put her palm to her temple, trying to remember. She saw flames, a great expanse of snow, the crackling green energy of her mark. Corypheus.

“ _Maker’s balls_ ,” Katria blurted out as she tried to scramble out of the bedroll. “Where’s Cullen? Cassandra? I need to speak to them _right now._ ” The minute her legs touched the ground, they buckled beneath her, and she staggered to the side. 

Marianne hurried over to support her. “Slow down. Your body is still trying to adjust.” 

“Adjust to what?” Katria asked. She felt that tightness on her stomach again, and she lifted up her shirt. There were three or four crisscrossing scars across her side—fairly thick and ropey, but completely sealed. “I-I don’t understand. Where did this come from?” 

Marianne helped her sit down on the bedroll. She cleared her throat. “We found you a few hours ago in the snow, but you were in bad shape. That wound was the worst of it—you’d lost too much blood. You were dying.” The healer looked away from her. “You saved Bailey’s life—all our lives—so I….I decided it would be best to give you that potion. My heirloom, the one my mother made.” 

“ _Marianne_ ,” Katria began exasperatedly.

She lifted up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. There will be no further discussion. I made my decision, the potion is gone, we can’t turn back now. This Inquisition would be nothing without you. If you had died, we would not know of the threat we’re facing.” 

Marianne pressed her lips tightly together. “If I didn’t believe that the Maker set you on this path before, I do now. That stupid elixir was probably meant for you all along.” She met her gaze. “The people will think this is a miracle, and you will have more support than ever.” 

“It won’t matter,” Katria muttered. “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with no resources, and we’re up against a darkspawn magister plotting the end of the world.” 

“That sounds like a problem that is far above my pay grade,” Marianne said as she used Katria’s shoulder to stand. “However, there is a handsome warrior with great arms outside your tent who I’m sure would be happy to talk to you about it.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not who I was thinking of.” 

The aforementioned handsome warrior burst into the tent—the abruptness of the action made his face redden. He tried to explain himself. “I heard voices and I….” He took two steps closer. “You’re alright?” 

She ran her hand along her side. “It seems like it.” She scooted forward on the bedroll. “What about the others? Are they okay? Did they make it out?” 

“Yes, yes,” he assured her. “I have sent for them.”

Cullen took another small step and perched himself at the end of her bedroll. 

“I was worried…about you. I’m glad you’re alright.” 

He was worried because she was the Herald, her hand was still needed, most likely. A kind sentiment, nonetheless. 

“Thank-,”

“Herald!” Cassandra rushed into the tent, and Cullen bolted up from his sitting position—maintaining professionalism certainly seemed like his greatest skill. 

Cassandra latched onto Katria’s shoulders and shook her a few times. “Thank the Maker you’re alright! You must tell us what you remember!”

Katria watched the others stream in—some looked awe-struck, some curious. She felt dread growing in the pit of her stomach. What she remembered was meeting an evil, incredibly powerful, darkspawn magister with a pet dragon who claimed to have started the Blight. His current plan was to enter the Fade and possibly destroy the entire fabric of their society. Oh, and he wanted to kill her. 

Katria put her palms on her knees. She could see her mark glowing in the dim light of the tent. Closing the Breach was supposed to be the _end_ of her problems, her role as Herald, but apparently it was just the beginning.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Katria was sitting away from the many fires burning around the camp. She liked the idea of being warm, but the looks of awe and veneration she received when she was in plain sight were beginning to overwhelm her. So she sat, in hiding, on a flat plain of rock near a torch, the light dancing across the snow at her feet. 

Her team had _not_ taken the news about Corypheus well, which was to be expected, but things were no longer entirely hopeless for the Inquisition. Solas had informed Katria about some shelter he knew of in this area that would be better suited for them than a deserted mountain pass. They would begin the trek in the morning. 

Katria should have gone to sleep—she was exhausted, but couldn’t just resign herself to her tent when there was work to be done. She primarily helped Marianne with those who were wounded in Haven. The situation was not good in that respect; they had little supplies and traveling would only further burden the health of the soldiers. Katria resolved to go out and gather herbs— it was her skill set to scavenge, after all. She’d found little, but still stayed to help Marianne distribute what she could. 

Katria was making her way among the bedrolls, when she saw a hand reach out for her. 

“I-It’s you…”

She stopped and peered down at a young man who was badly injured across the chest and head—bandages were wrapped around his forehead and obscured one of his eyes. He did not look well. 

Katria felt her face turn red under his mesmerized stare. All this made her want to scream and pull her hair out— _“I’m just a person!”_ she wanted to tell them. _“I don’t deserve to be worshipped!”_

Instead, she found herself taking his hand and squeezing it. “What do you need?”

He slowly shook his head. “They said there’s…no more they can do. Would you…pray with me, Herald?” 

Katria clenched her jaw and looked down. She probably hadn’t said a prayer in twenty years. She certainly didn’t know any verse of the Chant of Light. 

“What…would you like to pray for?” she asked him softly. 

He squeezed her hand back—he was so weak—and closed his eyes. “Maker, please keep my family safe. My daughter. Protect my friends. Bless the Herald and give her strength to champion Your name.” He began to speak more softly—a Chantry verse, one she obviously didn’t know. Something about eternity, emerald waters. 

He cracked his eye back open, and Katria smiled wanly at him.

“May you always walk in the Maker’s light,” he whispered. 

“And the Maker bless you, as well,” Katria replied. 

His eye lit up, like a child just given a gift—it made her throat tighten because she should _not_ have this effect on people. 

And so that was why Katria was now hiding, like a coward, in near darkness, away from the warmth. She wanted to dunk her head in the snow and stay there forever. These people knelt before a liar, a coward—not a savior. 

The sound of snow crunching under boots did not make her turn her head, but she did see a tall shadow beside her after a few moments. 

“You should be by the fire if you don’t have a coat,” Cullen said. 

Katria hugged her arms closer to her chest. She was wearing a thick shirt Marianne had given her, but Bailey still had her jacket, and there were not any others to spare—not that she would take one anyway. There were other people who needed those things more. 

Cullen held something in front of her. “Here.” 

It was a thick, wool blanket. Katria almost salivated at the thought of having it wrapped around her, but she pushed it away. 

“You should give that to some-,” 

“It’s mine,” he said. “It’s my blanket to do with what I see fit. You are sitting out here with no coat, which is just idiotic. So you’re going to take it.” 

Katria reluctantly accepted the blanket after a few moments and wrapped it around herself. She tried to give an inaudible sigh of relief as its warmth enveloped her. She did not realize how cold she had been. The blanket smelled like armor polish, smoke, something else she didn’t know. Cullen sat beside her on the rock. 

“Once we arrive at this place Solas has mentioned, we will dispatch agents to gather as much information as we can on Corypheus.” 

“Great,” Katria muttered—even she could hear the disdain in her voice. Did Cullen really think that she wanted to talk about work right now? 

To her surprise, he seemed to get the message. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. 

“I’m…” Katria sighed. “People won’t stop _staring_ at me, _kneeling_ before me. A-And they shouldn’t do that because they’re revering a coward.” 

“A coward?” Cullen began, sounding surprised. “What makes you think that?” 

She turned her head further away from him, ashamed. 

“In Haven, when I first saw him, Corypheus, I was…” She swallowed, remembering his silhouette against the flames, how small she felt between him and his dragon. 

“I was terrified,” she admitted. “I completely froze.” 

Katria let her hands drop to her bent knees and turned to him. “A real hero—the person these people deserve _wouldn’t_ have done that. They would have stood tall and shouted something brave like, ‘I don’t fear you, creature!’.” She shook her head. “But you know what I said? _Nothing._ I stood there, like an idiot, shaking in terror. No glib comment or witty observation, just silence, and he looked at me like I was an ant that could be squashed under his finger.” 

“He didn’t though,” Cullen replied. “Squash you. You escaped even when he wanted to kill you. And you took out more than a few of his Templars too.” 

She felt the slightest pressure on her back through the blanket—he had put his hand on her, right between her shoulder blades. Katria wanted to fall against him, bury her cold face in that stupid coat, but it would be…inappropriate. 

“He doesn’t want to kill me because he thinks I’m a threat,” Katria said, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. “I’m a loose end. A liability.” 

Cullen leaned forward, looking at her. “Good. Let him underestimate you, underestimate the Inquisition. It will make him more vulnerable when we strike. Let your actions speak louder than anything you did or didn’t say.”

Katria smiled slightly. “Oh, I _did_ say something. Eventually.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Your famous last words?” 

She nodded. “Right before I launched the trebuchet.” 

“Do I _want_ to know what you said?” he asked, shaking his head. 

Katria laughed. “I collected input from our friends, if you must know. Cassandra, of course, suggested something serious and noble from the Chant of Light or something. But Varric and I decided _fuck you_ would basically serve the same purpose.”

Cullen covered his mouth with his other hand in an attempt to regain his composure. She could see him struggling not to smile.

Katria blushed. “Don’t laugh! You asked what I said!” 

He removed his hand. “So that’s it? That’s what you told him?” 

She shrugged. “Well, I might have added something before that. I can’t exactly remember. It’s kind of a blur.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” Cullen murmured. His hand slid slowly off her across the shoulder nearest him. 

He cleared his throat. “You’re not a coward, no matter what you said.” Cullen pushed himself up. “You should rest before we begin travelling.” 

Katria nodded. “I’ll think about it. You should too. Thank you for the blanket.”

She did not watch him as he left, but her mind did stray back to him after a few minutes. Katria had always assumed his kindness, or what looked like kindness, was just his desire to keep her alive as the Herald, as an investment. But these things he was doing—they were more than that, they were actually _friendly_. He seemed to genuinely care about her—Katria, the person. 

Not that he’d actually called her that yet, of course.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

They found Skyhold after four days of traveling through the mountains with Katria scouting in front. Falling back on her skills—like being in the wilderness—helped take her mind off the reverence she was still receiving. Thankfully, once they got to Skyhold, there was little time for her to dwell on such matters—the castle needed searching, people needed organizing and towers needed cleaning.

Katria was in the room right beside the portcullis at Skyhold helping clear out debris in the area that was soon to be Marianne’s clinic. Katria had yet to suspend her disbelief that Solas found them a giant, abandoned castle in the middle of the mountains, but Skyhold definitely needed work. It would be more defensible than Haven ever was, and that she was thankful for. But the vermin inhabiting almost every room? Not so much. 

She looked up when Bull and Dorian burst into the room.

“You _know_ it’s a good idea, Vint.” 

Katria raised her eyebrow. “Do I need to do some mediation?” 

Dorian crossed the room and leaned against a table near her. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve seen your mediation—pointing and screaming for everyone to get along does not solve all problems.” 

“I know that,” she replied, smirking. “And for those special circumstances I have my daggers. Now, are you two getting along? I’ve a very busy person and don’t want to have to pull them out unless it’s completely necessary.”

Bull folded his arms over his chest. “Evil darkspawn magister keeping you occupied?” 

“Using the word ‘evil’ to describe a _darkspawn_ magister seems redundant,” Katria said. “But yes. That is one of many concerns. As if I didn’t have enough of them before I buried Haven in an avalanche.”

Dorian shook his head. “One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an Archdemon appears and kicks you in the head.” 

He put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “ _What?_ You thought this would be easy? No, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill. Sorry about that. Archdemons like to crush, you know. Can’t be helped.”

Iron Bull threw a thumb in his direction. “Is he always like that?” 

Katria grinned. “I’m afraid so. Touch dramatic, when he wants to be.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, because a story about an ancient magister who assaulted the Golden City and started the Blight one thousand years ago is completely devoid of drama. Varric’s next novel has practically written itself.” 

“He can’t start writing until the Inquisition has its hero—it’s Inquisitor,” Bull remarked. 

Katria shrugged. “I don’t know. The Inquisition has done well so far without one.” 

“That’s because all you’ve needed up till now is damage control,” he said. “Reaction. Now that you’ve sealed the Breach, it’s time to make decisions. Someone’s going to have to step up.” 

“I’m sure there are plenty of people clamoring at the chance to do just that,” Katria said, leaning on the table beside Dorian after she’d finished unloading a box. 

The mage gave her an appraising look. “You could do it—although you certainly don’t dress the part.” 

Katria soothed her hand down her shirt—she’d been working in it all day, so it was somewhat wrinkled and stained with dirt. “You too, huh? Vivienne hates my clothes so much she looks like she wants to vomit or punch me in the face every time we have a conversation.” 

Bull gave a rough laugh. “I think that’s just the way her face always looks.” He abruptly stopped and his eyes darted from side to side, like he thought Vivienne could be listening to them. 

Dorian turned to her. “It doesn’t matter what your title is. No one will thank you, whatever happens. You know that, yes?” 

Katria smiled. “You think so? I was looking forward to getting hundreds of thank-you fruit baskets after saving all of Thedas.”

“If by fruit, you mean grapes, and by grapes, you mean wine, I think that sounds like an excellent thank you for defeating a darkspawn magister.” 

Katria pushed herself off the table, chuckling. “I’ll inform our Lady Ambassador about the Inquisition’s gift preferences at once.” Her smile faded. “I’m meeting with them to listen to more arguments about Inquisition infrastructure.” 

She pushed open the door to Skyhold’s courtyard with her shoulder after saying goodbye to Bull and Dorian. She stopped when saw Cass waiting outside for her with her hands held behind her back. 

“How are things?” Katria asked, looking around at the soldiers mulling about, carrying boxes, and delivering orders. 

“People arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.”

Cassandra began walking towards the steps that lead to the upper level of the courtyard. Katria furrowed her brow and followed her. 

Cassandra continued. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One.” 

Katria’s heart rate hitched at the sound of his name, and she exhaled through her nose. 

“This place is more defensible. I’ve triggered enough avalanches to avoid his wrath for one lifetime.” 

She nodded. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.” 

They reached the top of the stairs, and the Seeker turned to her. “We now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew you to him.” 

Katria lifted up her hand. “Come on, Cass, he didn’t come for me. He came for the mark. He couldn’t remove it, so now I’m useless to him. He’ll seek me out to tie up the loose ends of his plan.” 

“The Anchor has power,” Cassandra admitted. “But that’s not why you’re still standing here.” 

She shook her head. “I’m standing here because of Marianne, some powerful healing magic, and a carefully aimed trebuchet.” 

Cassandra put her hand on Katria’s shoulder and gently nudged her forward. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven.” 

The Seeker began climbing the stairs to the Great Hall. Katria paused and then jogged up to her as she continued to speak. 

“You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us.” 

Katria stopped mid-stride. “Cass, what is going on? You’ve strung about four compliments together about me, and now I’m concerned for your health.” 

She turned and motioned Katria up the stairs. Katria hesitantly obliged, but reeled backwards when she saw Leliana holding an intricate sword in both hands. 

Cassandra smiled slightly. “The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has _already_ been leading it.” 

Katria’s stomach flipped. She felt like every part of her body was slowly constricting and pushing all the blood up to her face. There were people gathered below them. Cullen, Josephine. Iron Bull and Dorian with the most _smug_ grins on their stupid faces. 

Her gaze turned back to Cassandra. 

“You,” she said proudly. 

Katria resisted the urge to double over or collapse—the realization of…of _all this_ was quite possibly going to crush her. She was old enough to see that this was an important moment—that she should stand up straight and not laugh hysterically like she wanted to.

She managed to string some words together. “I-I don’t understand. How did you all actually agree on this?” 

“All of these people have their lives because of you,” Cassandra said. “They will follow.”

Katria shook her head once. “That wasn’t the question, Cass.” 

The Seeker shifted on her feet. “I will not lie, handing this power to anyone is troubling. But I have to believe this is meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you.” She gestured backwards to Leliana, who stepped forward and presented her with the sword. It was massive, made of expensive material, with coiled dragons at the handle. 

Katria raised an eyebrow as she hesitantly gripped it. She held tight to it to stop her hand from shaking. “So the ridiculous, ostentatious sword was Cullen’s idea, I assume?” 

Leliana cracked a small smile. “We thought you would say that.”

Katria took a deep breath and lifted the sword from her grasp. It was as heavy as it looked. The metal glinted in the sunlight as she slowly turned it in her hand. 

“How the Inquisition will serve, how you lead, must be yours to decide,” Cassandra said. 

“Well, for starters there’s a darkspawn magister named Corypheus who needs a swift kick to the ass,” Katria muttered. Her head jerked up, and she reddened. “Sorry, I meant—Corypheus intends to be a god, to rule over us all. He must be stopped.” 

Cassandra smiled. “Wherever you lead us.” 

The world went rather fuzzy after that—she heard cheering and clapping, but her own thoughts drowned those sounds out. _Inquisitor._ She was the _Inquisitor_. They had all agreed to put her in charge. Yes, she was in her thirties and quite clearly an adult, and yes, that meant she had experience fighting, but _Maker’s balls_ she hoped they knew what they were doing. 

Maybe more importantly, maybe what was making her really queasy about the whole situation, was her hope that _she_ knew what she was doing. 

===

Once the Inquisition arrived in Skyhold, Cullen had little time to think about anything other than organizing his troops: his soldiers needed temporary quarters, he needed reports from his scouts about the area surrounding Skyhold—the list was never ending. And then, of course, there was the matter of selecting their Inquisitor. 

The others had been genuinely surprised when he agreed that Katria would be the best choice. He supposed he hadn’t made his changing opinion about her very obvious, but his opinion _had_ changed. Yes, she was unorthodox, but he’d seen her work just as hard as any of them, holding the hands of the wounded, helping recruits; she was quick to smile, and the people adored her.

Someone beside him cleared their throat as Cullen leaned over his make-shift table set up in the courtyard. He glanced up and saw one of his soldiers motioning behind him. 

Cullen turned slightly and saw Katria walking towards him. 

He cleared his throat. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Good day to you, Cullen. Do you ever sleep?” 

“If Corypheus strikes again, we may be not be able to withdraw…and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.” He looked back down at the reports on the table behind him. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “How many were lost at Haven?” 

Cullen sighed. “Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse.” He stood and rested his hands on his sword. “Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.” 

Katria almost looked a little ill. He saw her reach behind her to grip the dagger she always kept on her. “As if I needed another title,” she grumbled. “It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Cullen said quickly. 

She smiled. “Is that the official response?” 

“I suppose it is,” he admitted. “But’s it the truth. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.” 

Katria snorted. “Why? Because I threw myself in front of a darkspawn magister and his pet dragon?” 

“You might not be aware of this, but _most_ people are not brave enough to do that,” Cullen remarked.

“You would have,” she said, tilting her gaze up towards him. 

He shook his head. “That’s not the point.” 

“That is actually _precisely_ my point,” Katria muttered. 

Cullen muffled a sigh and stepped closer to her. Closer than he’d ever been to her before, he realized. He could see more clearly the murky blue tint of her eyes, the mottled red skin on her cheeks from spending so many years outside, the whispers of the wrinkles that appeared around her eyes when she smiled. 

“If I had your mark, if I had gone out to face Corypheus, I would be dead right now.” 

“That’s not true,” she protested. 

“It is true,” he insisted, removing his hand from his sword to gesture with it. “Marianne gave you the potion that kept you alive because you saved her daughter’s life. Because you took the time to get to know them both and showed how _good_ you are. You think that these people follow you just because you’re called a Herald, but that’s not true. You are righteous and brave and compassionate and you are a champion for _all_ people and that’s why we chose you as the Inquisitor.” 

Katria looked incredibly flustered—her mouth was open slightly and her eyes were widened. 

“I, ah….” She slid her hand up the side of her neck. “This is the part where I make a joke to de-emphasize all the nice, but ultimately untrue, things you said about me,” she muttered. 

“I know,” Cullen replied. 

Katria snapped her fingers. “Here’s one.” She grinned at him. “Are you sure my amazing sense of humor had nothing to do with me becoming the Inquisitor?” 

He gave her a look of mild disapproval—or pity, he wasn’t sure which. “I wish you understood the impact you have on these people.”

“I-I do,” she insisted, staring at the little amount of grass between them. “This has just been…an overwhelming series of months and…” She paused. “I’m sorry. I should stop. I need to…be more _inquisitorial_. Whatever that means.” 

Her gaze returned to him, and Cullen wanted to touch her—his fingers along the scar on her cheek, his hand on her braid that little girl was always putting into her hair. But Maker’s breath, _why_? She was the Inquisitor now. Certainly, she was beautiful and it had been…distracting at times, but _no_.

“You will be a great Inquisitor,” he blurted out. 

“I will be nothing without my advisors,” she countered, grinning at him. “I am relieved that you—that so many made it out of Haven.” 

Cullen thought about how he felt when he thought she was dead—the dread, the sadness, the utter hopelessness he felt about everything. “As am I.” 

He looked at her. She wasn’t closer to him, but he wanted her to be. “You stayed behind. You could have…” He shook his head. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.” 

Her grin widened. “I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that,” she said softly. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

He smiled stupidly at her as she walked away—before realizing his expression was entirely inappropriate, so he returned to work.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Katria winced as she pulled a fresh shirt over her head and pain blossomed across her shoulders—Cass had smacked her particularly hard a few hours earlier when they sparred. She had said since Katria was now the Inquisitor she needed to ‘toughen up.’ Which was ridiculous because Katria _was_ tough, she was just not made of iron like a certain Seeker was.

She began pulling her boots on, her wet hair sliding down her shoulders and dripping water onto the floor. She stopped midway—there was little point putting on her old clothes because Dorian or Vivienne would inevitably barge in and force her into a more appropriate outfit. She looked ruefully over at the three— _three_ —chests open beside her bed. Josephine had a set of entirely new outfits sent to Skyhold to better reflect her new station. Katria had been horrified when they first arrived; she imagined Josie had bought her a bevy of Orlesian dresses with high collars and inexplicable areas of fabric removed, but the clothes were actually _tolerable_. Mostly, they were thick cotton tunics—not plaid weave, thank the Maker—in a variety of colors with intricate, but small, white embroidery along the neckline. They fit better than anything else she’d worn in the past ten years, but were a reminder of the fact that she was supposed to be as refined as her new clothes. Not that she needed any reminders of that fact; every person she came in contact with calling her Inquisitor did that job pretty well. 

Katria heard the door to her quarters open and a set of feet ascended the stairs. Cullen appeared and stopped only a few paces into the room, a report clutched in his hand. He looked a bit nervous when he spotted her sitting at the edge of her bed. 

“Inquisitor, I am sorry to bother you, but we must speak at once.” 

She waved him further in. “It’s no bother, Cullen.” She looked over at the other side of the room where Josephine had a desk placed. Her quarters were only sparsely furnished right now, but she assumed their Ambassador had some flashy ideas in mind. “This is, apparently, my office as well as my bedroom.” 

“I see,” he began. “I wanted to tell you that I have just received some intelligence from Leliana regarding the red Templars. They are led by a man named Samson. Barris has confirmed that Samson was at Therinfall Redoubt. He took over once their corruption was complete.” 

“Do we know anything else about him?” Katria asked.

Cullen frowned. “I knew him, personally.”

Her brow furrowed. “Are you serious?” 

“Samson was a Templar in Kirkwall,” Cullen said. “When I first arrived there, he and I shared quarters.” 

Katria put her fingers to her temple. “So _you_ ended up as the Commander of the Inquisition and _he_ is our arch enemy’s general?” 

He shifted uncomfortably—talking about Kirkwall did not seem like something Cullen enjoyed. Come to think of it, he didn’t like talking about _any_ of his previous Templar posts. 

“Samson was expelled from the Order. He was a lyrium addict.” He gestured to the report in his hand. “Leliana’s agents are saying that he is taking red lyrium with the other Templars. Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness.” 

Katria snorted. “The red Templars swarming Haven were proof enough of that.” 

Cullen stepped forward, his expression earnest. “We cannot allow them to gain strength. The red Templars still require lyrium. If we find their source, we can weaken them and their leader.” 

“Are you angrier at Corypheus or Samson?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. 

He reached up and rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. Samson, at least, should know better.”

Katria leaned backwards. “What was Samson like?” 

Cullen jerked his head up, giving her a hard look. “He….seemed a decent man, at first. Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled him for “erratic behavior.” He ended up begging on Kirkwall’s streets.” 

She pursed her lips. “How did he get from the streets of Kirkwall to being in the service of Tevinter magister, exactly?” 

“He had a chronic lyrium addiction,” Cullen explained. “He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium. Perhaps that’s all it took.” 

Katria looked down at her bare feet. “It sounds like Samson had a miserable life.” 

“The Order expelled him, but he had choices,” Cullen protested. “He could have found another path.” 

She sighed. “We need to stop him on the path he’s on now. What would you suggest? I have come across small deposits of red lyrium, but nothing that could sustain an army.” 

“Caravans of lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads. Investigating them could lead to where it’s being mined.” Cullen cleared his throat. “If you confront them…be wary. Anything connected to Samson will be well-guarded.” 

“Oh, Commander, don’t worry. I am the picture of caution in my travels.” 

“I certainly wish that were true,” Cullen said, as he handed her the report from Leliana’s agents. The door at the bottom of the stairs swung open, and seconds later, Bailey appeared. She ran over to the bed and unceremoniously dumped her fox on it before climbing on. The girl situated herself behind Katria on her knees and immediately got to work braiding her wet hair. 

“Lady Josie promised she’d write me a decree of my status as the official hair dresser for the Inquisitor,” Bailey said, mostly concentrating on her work. “It’ll have the Inquisition seal on it and everything!” 

“Wow,” Katria said, wincing as the girl pulled too hard on a lock of hair. “You’re moving up in the world. Maybe you could asked Commander Cullen for a fancy dragon sword to go with your new job. I got one.” 

“That was Josephine’s idea,” he interjected. He looked over at its place on the wall near her. “But I do think it is appropriate—representative of your position.”

Katria grinned. “Of course you think that. I just don’t understand why it has to be so large. I mean, Maker, it’s like I’m _compensating_ for something.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows, then realized she might accidentally be flirting. With _Cullen_. Or at least he seemed to think she was flirting because a blush began to spread across his cheeks. 

“All done!” Bailey exclaimed, tossing the braid over Katria’s shoulders. She threw her arms around Katria’s neck from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder. 

“She looks beautiful, right, Cullen?”

Katria straightened. “Ah, little duck, you can’t ask that.” 

Bailey turned her head to look at her. “Why not?” 

She gave a small laugh. “Cullen is the commander of my army—commanders don’t compliment the perceived beauty of their Inquisitors.”

Cullen was looking away from them, the scar on his mouth stretching as his lips turned downwards. What exactly could he be sad about? 

The door swung open again, and Katria groaned. “Maker’s balls, did I forfeit privacy when I accepted the role of Inquisitor?” 

She glared at Dorian as he walked up the stairs. “What if I had been in here with…I don’t know, my lover or something?” 

Dorian looked over at Cullen, smirking. “I might like to see that.” 

Cullen turned redder. “ _If_ you’ll excuse me, Inquisitor, I will see you in the War Room.” He turned and hurried away. 

“You can call me Katria!” she called after him. 

Dorian walked past her and began rummaging through her new clothes. He looked at Bailey and nodded in greeting. 

“Child,” he said. 

“Tevinter,” she said back smugly. 

Katria patted Bailey’s arms. “Such loving nicknames you have for one another.”

Dorian tossed some clothes to her. “Wear this. I will have to talk to Josephine about getting you some pieces that aren’t so overwhelmingly _boring_.” 

She stood to change. “Not all of us can pull off daring all-leather ensembles like you can.” 

“You said that as an insult, but I’m going to take it as an indication of how envious you are of me,” Dorian said. 

Katria changed, and didn’t completely hate what she was wearing, so she hurried down into the Great Hall, and then into the corridor that led to Josephine’s office and the War Room. Katria was nervous—this was the first time they were all meeting since she had become Inquisitor. She wanted to get it right. 

Katria pushed open the heavy doors to the War Room; the others were already waiting for her, and were now looking at her, and she wanted to melt. Katria walked up to the massive table. She ran her fingers along the edge of it. 

“This is a nice piece,” she said. “Entirely too few dagger marks for my taste, however.” 

Josephine smiled. “Feel free to remedy that, Inquisitor. The table would probably be worth more afterwards.” 

Katria felt better—a little. She looked up from the map. “Have you made any progress with Empress Celene?” 

“I’ve made some inquiries into the Imperial Court,” Josephine said. “The sooner we deal with the threat to the Empress, the better. The political situation in the empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters.” 

Cullen scoffed. “Everything in the empire complicates matters. It’s the Orlesian national pastime.” 

“Turn up your nose at the Grand Game all you like, Commander,” Leliana interjected. “But we play for the highest stakes, and to the death.” 

“The Court’s disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori,” Josephine said. “We must be vigilant, to avert disaster. I hope to host a number of Orlesian nobles here to gather more support for our cause. But right now the condition of Skyhold is….lacking.” 

Katria smirked. “Oh, you don’t think our visitors of distinction will find the castle in its current condition rustically charming? We’ve even got nesting animals.” 

“We’ve just now convinced everyone we are exactly what Thedas requires. The staff must make Skyhold presentable if we are to gain any more influence.” 

“Influence to do what?” Katria asked. 

“We cannot hope to stop this assassination attempt if we have no allies. The Empress is in the middle of a civil war. Her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard, seeks to take her throne by force,” Josephine said. “Empress Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It’s the perfect place for an assassin to hide.”

Katria groaned. “A Grand Masquerade? We aren’t going to have to do _more_ shopping, are we?”

She shook her head. “We must receive an invitation first, which is no easy task. I am planning to establish contact with key members of the Council of Heralds. Or perhaps even Grand Duke Gaspard.” 

Josephine snapped her fingers, suddenly beaming. “Which reminds me about a package that arrived for you just this morning!” She put down her writing board and picked up a box on the ground beside her. 

“This arrived from Lord Aldéric Mantillon,” she said, as she pushed it in Katria’s direction. 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” 

“Is that bad?” Katria asked, as she lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a neatly folded gray cloak; it was made of some sort of thick, woolen material. Symbols of the Inquisition’s heraldry were embroidered in silver thread along the edges of the cloak—an incredibly time consuming, delicate task. Katria gently lifted it out of the box. 

“I’m guessing you’re excited because you hope this will replace my current traveling coat,” she said, looking pointedly at Josephine. 

“This particular piece is certainly more…appropriate,” she said, with a hopeful tone. She hesitated. “To answer your other question, it is not bad that Lord Mantillon sent this, although it is…complicated.” 

“Of course it is,” Cullen muttered. He was regarding the cloak with a degree of weariness. 

“Lord Mantillon is the youngest son of the Dowager, Marquise Mantillon, a member of the Council of Heralds,” Josephine explained. “He has…a reputation.” 

“Care to elaborate?” Katria asked. She swung the cloak over her shoulders and fastened the clasp across her throat. The material felt soft and warm. This was likely a ridiculously expensive piece of clothing. 

Leliana shifted on her feet. “Lord Mantillon, as the youngest son in his family, has more freedom than his older brothers to shirk his duties. He is unmarried, very handsome, and known for his varying…dalliances with other members of the court. Which isn't unusual for _his_ family. The Dowager has had eight husbands.” 

“Oh,” Katria said, then stopped. “ _Oh_ , you mean you think he sent me this gift because….” 

Josephine sighed. “I will speak candidly. Lord Mantillon can be temperamental—he always gets what he wants because of his mother.” She picked her writing board back up. “He’s certainly not interested in any prospect of marriage; he is far too noble to be betrothed to…”

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Me? Who is at best a lowly Free Marches noble?” 

“Yes,” Josephine replied. “But his gift _is_ a part of the Game. It is very generous, and no one else in his family would contact us given our current reputation. His act of a kindness is a ploy to encourage us to rely on him to gain influence in Orlais so that we owe him a debt.” 

“So, we should avoid that,” Katria said, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders. “I can still keep this though, right?” 

Katria didn't know if that's exactly what she wanted. Nobles, and ostensibly anything they gave to her or said, were usually worth avoiding at all costs. But Josephine, in Katria's mind, had a tough job trying to make _her_ palatable to the folks they needed to ally with. If wearing the cloak and not her trusty jacket made Josephine happy, she could do it, for the Ambassador's sake. 

“Of course,” Josephine said. “You will write him a response. I will have a draft sent to your office that you can transcribe and sign in your own hand, as well as the letter he sent with the cloak.” 

“Thank you, Josephine,” she said, looking back down at the map. “We should discuss my travel plans. If we want to gain more of a foothold in Orlais, I think we should start in the Dales.” 

“I agree,” Leliana said. “There has been a breakdown in contact between Val Royeaux and the Imperial Army forces there. If we investigate the matter and resolve it, we could go far in winning some favor. Both sides agreed to cease hostilities and retreated to their camps, but what occurred after is a mystery.” 

Katria nodded and then looked up at Cullen. “I will depart as soon as you receive word from Scout Harding that an outpost has been established.” 

Cullen gave a slight nod. There was a crease between his brows as he spoke. Katria assumed he was grouchy about having to stand around and listen to them talk about Orlesian nobles. “Yes, Inquisitor.” 

Katria fidgeted with her hands that were hidden under her cloak. That was good. That sounded confident. Authoritative. Maybe she wasn’t as bad at this as she thought. As long as too many nobles didn’t approach her trying to needle her with their words in the name of this stupid _Game_ , she’d be fine. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You're surprised at _further_ canon divergence? Of course not! *hides under table in shame* I could not pass on an opportunity to set up Katria to fumble later in front of nobility. Plus mildly jealous Cullen? Sure why not. Thank you all for your comments and high tolerance for my nonsense.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

A few days later, Cullen received word that his troops had set up in the Exalted Plains. He forwarded the report to Katria, and she made preparations to leave. At dawn the morning she was supposed to depart, Cullen was outside his new office, leaning against the battlements. He had hardly slept—a nightmare had wrested him from his sleep only a few hours after midnight, and he’d been working since.

Katria exited the Great Hall across the courtyard. Despite the early morning fog, her figure was distinct to him. Her face, at rare times, betrayed the anxiety that came with her new position, but the rest of her commanded respect, attention. She stood tall, surprisingly broad shouldered for a rogue, and walked with a graceful gait. Cullen watched her glide down the first set of steps and head for the tavern under him. He furrowed his brow. It was a little early for a drink. Obscenely early, in fact. It would probably be prudent for him to check on her. To make sure she was alright.

Cullen headed down the steps near him, and when he reached the tavern door, it flew back open. Katria was clasping her pack back together. She stopped when she saw him. 

“Little early for a drink, isn't it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I was going to ask you that, Inquisitor,” he replied, then gestured to her bag. “Could I carry that for you?” 

“Oh no,” she said hastily, slinging it behind her. “There are entirely too many Tevinter ports in this sack, and I’m afraid you’ll tell Cassandra.” 

He followed her as she walked to the stables. “Did you read all of the reports I sent?” 

“Yes,” she said. “I read them. Then I spent three hours going over Josephine’s dossiers on Orlesian noble families because she’s threatening to _test_ me over it.” 

“What happens if you fail?” Cullen asked. 

Katria sighed. “I’m not sure. It probably involves a dress and a tea party, so nothing good.”

He reached up and rubbed his neck as they descended the stairs. “Are you…doing alright?”

She pulled one side of her cloak closer to her chest, and Cullen had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. Of course, some handsome noble had given her something she actually _liked_ while he had decided a dead—dying—fox would be a good idea. Katria’s voice drew his attention back to her. 

“I am better than ever,” she said. “The weight of the future of all Thedas on my shoulders is doing wonders for my muscle tone.” 

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and she sighed. “Sorry, I meant that it is....a lot. But I am slowly adjusting.” 

“Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. 

A stable hand was waiting with her horse in front of the portcullis. Dorian was standing nearby and excitedly approached them. He dug his hands into Katria’s bag. 

She staggered to the side as his weight pushed down on the sack. “Nice to see you too, Dorian.” 

He pulled out one of the bottles, gazing at it appreciatively. 

“Oh, my dear, I could kiss you.” 

Katria snorted. “Please don’t.”

_Yes._ Cullen thought. _Please don’t._

She turned her head to glare at the Tevinter. “Would you put that away before Cass comes over?” 

Dorian dropped it back into the bag and clasped it shut. Cullen put his hands on his sword. “I have some drills to run this morning. Have a safe journey, Inquisitor.”

Katria smiled at him. “I will try.” 

The rest of the day Cullen tried not to think about the fact that when he returned to Skyhold from the practice field, she wouldn’t be there. His attachment to her was entirely inappropriate—she’d said it herself: he was her Commander, and he _shouldn’t_ comment on his Inquisitor’s beauty. No matter how much he thought about it. 

===

_Cullen,_

_Greetings from the Exalted Plains. It’s horrible here. I realize that is not very descriptive, so I will elaborate. The situation, when we arrived, was bleak for Gaspard’s troops. They had been pushed back to Fort Revasan because of the hordes of undead here. Yes, hordes, so don’t roll your eyes and think I’m being dramatic. We have yet to discover what is causing the increased activity, but burning the bodies is helping._

_We have also run into contingents of rogue chevaliers—they call themselves the Freeman of the Dales. One group, led by a mage named Gordian, was occupying the Eastern Ramparts. I love chevaliers. I mean, not like that—the chevaliers are well-trained warriors, certainly, but they are trained very formulaically. Their form is great, but their moves are predictable, if you know them well enough. Which I do. I beat a chevalier in a duel while blind-folded once. Point is, I have no problem fighting them, so we cleared the ramparts easily._

_Sorry. Getting to the part where I give orders. The bridge that leads to the Citadelle du Corbeau where Celene’s forces are stationed has been damaged. I want it repaired so that we can gain access to it. In addition, a set of Elven ruins in the area has blocked our entry to the Crow Fens. If our chief engineer thinks it can be done, I’d like the path cleared._

_Oh, I have one last order: address me as Katria in your letters. I don’t care how handsome you are, I will punch you directly in the face upon my return to Skyhold if you don’t._

_I hope you are well._

_Katria_

===

_Inquisitor Katria,_

_We have received reports about your success in the area; most of Gaspard’s outposts have been repopulated by his troops. Josephine says she might be able to leverage this to get you an invitation to Empress Celene’s masquerade._

_I must encourage you be careful. Chevaliers are very skilled warriors, and you are not a warrior. You do not carry a shield, you do not wear the proper armor. Running headfirst into a fight with a chevalier, no matter how familiar you are with their training, is irresponsible. You are the Inquisitor. You cannot afford to be irresponsible. The Inquisition cannot afford it. _

_I have sent engineers and laborers to the Exalted Plains with another contingent of soldiers. They will begin work on clearing the Elven ruins and repairing Point Agur._

_I have received word from Leliana’s scouts that there have been caravans of red lyrium spotted near you in the Emerald Graves. If it’s possible, I would like to recommend setting up a camp there to investigate this smuggling. We have also been contacted by a man in the area named Fairbanks, who says he has information that will be valuable to the Inquisition. He says he will trade the information in exchange for help eliminating the Freeman—which seems to be a hobby of yours. I await your orders._

_Commander Cullen_

_PS: You never specified in your letter that I had to only refer to you as Katria, so I hope my salutation was not too upsetting._

===

_Cullen,_

_We have made our way further into the west and discovered a clan of Dalish elves. They were understandably weary of us at first. But, after I helped some of the clan members, their Keeper, named Hawen, has allowed a young man named Loranil to join the Inquisition. He has been dispatched with some of your soldiers._

_Send your troops to the Emerald Graves. We will travel there once we are done with our business in the Exalted Plains._

_I am careful around chevaliers. I told you I like your lectures, Cullen, but not when they’re about how reckless I am. _

_Regards,_

_A Most Responsible Inquisitor Trevelyan_

_PS: Your salutation was upsetting, so enjoy having a full set of teeth while you can because when I return to Skyhold my fist is going to have a meeting with your mouth_

===

_Katria,_

_Your entirely-too-nosy Spymaster informed me that my last correspondence with you was too “pedantic and condescending” in relation to my comments about your tactics against chevaliers. I am sorry if my words came across that way, but I do no regret the sentiment. I still think you should be careful. The Inquisition needs you. I would—we all would—be very upset if something happened to you._

_Scout Harding has successfully made contact with this Fairbanks character in the Emerald Graves. He gave little information to her—he’s only interested in talking to you. Leliana’s agents also had a run-in with the Freeman; they are a violent and aggressive group. And, since I think it bears repeating, be careful._

_Cullen_

_PS: I never thought I would have to say this to someone with a refined title like Inquisitor, but please don't hit me._

===

_Cullen,_

_You’re forgiven. No apology fox necessary this time._

_Arrived in the Emerald Graves. It’s beautiful here, but a little haunting. We have made contact with Fairbanks, and we took down a number of Freeman groups in the area, including those who had taken prisoners._

_Leliana’s suspicions about Fairbanks proved to be well-founded—I’ve done some research and turns out Fairbanks is of noble descent. He’s the heir of the wealthy Lord Giroux Lemarque. Josephine will likely disapprove (in the most polite manner) when she hears this, but I gave the proof to Fairbanks. I can understand why someone would want to leave a noble lifestyle behind, so who am I to force him back into it? The good news is, this act will likely make him a valuable ally as he tries to bring order back to the Dales._

_Our next plan of action is to find the red lyrium caravans and hopefully uncover some information about Samson’s operations. I do, as always, promise to be careful._

_Say hello to Bailey for me. Pet her fox, if your reputation can handle it._

_Katria_

_PS: My dear Commander, I would never actually hurt you. If I'm ever upset, I'll just to arrange to have some bees put in your pillows. Or in your training dummy. Or your desk. Do you see how creative I am?_

===

_Cullen,_

_~~Fuck this place. Fuck giants. Fuck all this~~ _

_Forgive me. I am not in a good mood. I have not received your letter, but I am writing you again to let you know we have found enough information from the lyrium smugglers to hopefully discover the location of the red Templars’ mine. However, these caravans were travelling through giant-infested wilderness. It was difficult and annoying to find them, while also avoiding the giants, and now I’ve got an ugly gash in my leg. I can still walk, so we have begun our journey back to Skyhold. It’s been more than two months, and I’m ready to be home. Also, we’re out of Tevinter port. _

_See you soon._

_Katria_


	20. Chapter Twenty

Cullen did not meet the Inquisitor at the gates when she arrived with her party back from the Dales. He told Leliana and Josephine he had urgent letters to write and that he would meet them in the War Room later that day. He knew that as hard as he might try, he would not be able to stop himself from beaming like an idiot when he first saw her. 

Then, of course, he would ultimately frown and be filled with dread because he knew her arrival meant that he had to tell her about the lyrium. The symptoms of his withdrawal had worsened in the last few weeks—his body felt weaker, and he was tired all the time. He’d even forgotten to respond to one of her letters.

Cullen did not know how she would react to the news. She might be angry—justifiably. He should have told her sooner. Right when she became the Inquisitor. But she had so much to grapple with in taking on that new title. He did not want to further burden her when he knew—thought—he could endure this.

He sent a messenger with a note for her, asking her to meet him in his office at her earliest convenience. She came by within the hour, her hair wet and pulled back into a bun; her eyes brightened when she saw him. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said. A few pieces of parchment were clutched in her hand. She placed them on his desk. “I wanted to bring you the correspondence from the caravans as soon as possible.”

“Oh, thank you,” Cullen said. He was leaning over his desk, barely able to tear his attention away from the lyrium box that lay open below him. He hated it—here stood this beautiful woman, who made him smile, who was so kind to him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the vial of lyrium thrumming near him, begging to be held in his hand.

Katria seemed to notice something was wrong. 

“Cullen?” 

He finally looked up at her, and she searched his face, brow creased. “You don’t look so good? Is everything alright?” 

Cullen sighed. “As leader of the Inquisition, there’s something I must tell you.” 

She swallowed. “That sounds…especially serious. Even for you.” 

“I know.” He pushed himself off the desk, gripping the top of his sword in a desperate attempt to find comfort. “Lyrium gives Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die.” Cullen looked away from her. “We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here. But I…no longer take it.” 

The few moments of silence hovering between them crushed him. 

“You stopped?” she finally said. 

He gave a single nod. “When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.” 

“Months?” she began exasperatedly. “You didn’t think to tell me this sooner?” 

“Has it mattered?” Cullen snapped. No— _no_ , he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that. 

“I don’t know. Has it?” she said back, arms now crossed over her chest. 

Cullen touched his fingers to his temple where the pain was only worsening. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” 

Katria stepped closer, her fingers pressed against the desk that separated them. “If that can kill you…” 

“It hasn’t yet,” he said, which made her scoff. Cullen looked up at her. “You don’t have to worry. I would never put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.” 

Katria stepped away. Cullen could not read the expression on her face—she looked angry, upset, before it faded to resignation. 

She shook her head. “Cassandra takes things as seriously as you do. If she has no problem with it, neither do I.” 

“I-I thought you had a right to know,” he said. “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen, I will refer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

“I agree,” she said. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

Her gaze shot up to him, her lips pursed. The window behind his desk cast sunlight across her face. He could see the color of her eyes more clearly—they were mostly blue, but murky because of the shades of brown around her pupil that he hadn’t noticed before. Katria gave him the slightest nod before walking out of his office. 

Cullen groaned and put his hands back on his desk. Why had that gone so poorly? Maker, he should have told her sooner. He hadn’t meant to upset her, if that’s what had happened. He wished so desperately that this wasn’t a part of him, but it _was_ , and he had to endure. He was sworn to this cause, their cause, and nothing was going to keep him from fulfilling his promise. 

===

Katria was in her quarters—her new, lavishly furnished quarters—with a tumbler in hand, staring in silence at the wall across from her desk. She heard the door, some footsteps, but didn’t move. 

“Good thing you’re not a mage anymore—you’re staring so angrily at that wall you’d burn a hole through it.” 

Katria took a sip of her drink. “That was a joke in very poor taste.” 

“I assume that means you very much enjoyed it?” 

She finally looked over at who had come in. It was Leliana.

“Aren’t there some letters you should be snooping through somewhere?” Katria muttered. She lifted her feet onto her desk. 

Leliana stopped near her. “So, you’re upset about something?” 

“I hope so,” she replied. “Or else I’ve just been being shitty to people today for no reason.” Katria shook her head. “But, you probably aren’t here to listen me. Is everything alright?” 

Leliana folded her arms over her chest. “I wanted to talk to you about the events at Haven. You…must blame me for what happened.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “I recall a darkspawn magister and some Templars doing most of the damage. I was responsible for the rest of it.” 

Leliana crossed in front of the desk, so she could look out past the doors flung open to the balcony. “I keep wondering if I could have done something different,” she said. “When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information.” She bowed her head. “If they’d stayed in the field, they could have bought us more time. I was afraid to lose my agents, and instead we lost Haven.”

Katria sat up. “Leliana, that’s ridiculous. Looking out for your people is a good thing.” 

“Is it?” she demanded, turning around. “My people know their duty, they know the risks. They know that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives.”

Katria clenched her jaw. “The _Inquisition_ may call upon them? The Inquisition isn’t a person. It isn’t even a thing! The Inquisition is us—a group of people, and if we don’t acknowledge that, if we lose touch with being actual humans, then we know exactly what will happen. It’s called the _first_ Inquisition. And it sucked.” She exhaled through her nose. “My point is, your instincts were right. Their lives matter.” 

“Can we afford such sentimentality?” Leliana asked, frowning. “Can we win with it?” 

“We can’t win without it,” Katria said firmly. 

“I know that you get to be renowned for your great compassion, but _someone_ has to make the hard decisions,” Leliana said. 

She furrowed her brow. “My compassion?” 

The Spymaster sighed impatiently. “Yes, Katria. But of course you don’t see it. The people you’ve judged, the alliances you’ve made, it’s all done with such mercy. You trust people with second chances, and one day, it’s going to backfire.” 

Katria stood. “So what exactly is your solution to that? Slaughter anyone who has wronged us in the name of justice? Progress? Stopping evil by _being_ evil?” She left her glass on the table and approached her. “I know who you are Leliana, because we are the same, almost. You believe in the Maker, so you want to do good, like I do, but you also feel that pressure to sacrifice those values to get results. Or because it seems like we get punished for trying to do the right thing.” 

“You really think we are so alike?” Leliana asked. 

Katria smiled slightly. “I’m sorry if you feel like that’s an insult.” She stepped closer. “You did the right thing in Haven. Those lives matter. And you matter. I will not let you lose yourself for the sake of your job.”

Leliana swallowed and pressed her lips together. “Thank you, Inquisitor.” She looked down and slipped past her. “I have taken up enough of your time. I will see you tomorrow.” 

Katria watched her leave, and then looked out at the darkness past her balcony. There were lights flickering from torches below her, shadows moving among them. She sighed. It seemed like they were _all_ losing themselves for the sake of this Inquisition. Her mind drifted to Cullen, and her chest constricted. 

Some go mad—others die, he’d said. So calmly. So resigned. She wanted to take his face in her hands and shake him—that was _him_. That could happen to _him_. 

The amount of panic and fear she felt when he’d told her about the lyrium perplexed her. She had not realized she cared for him so much, but there it was—an ache in her heart when she thought about how badly he must be suffering, the disdain she had for herself when she knew she wasn’t helping, maybe couldn’t help him. 

And _Maker_ , when he said that she didn’t have to worry because he’d never put the _Inquisition_ at risk. She wanted to simultaneously throttle him and hold him. Couldn’t he see that she was not worried about the Inquisition—that she was instead worried so deeply about _him_? He needed to take better care of himself, to pay attention, but he was making it all about his job. 

_That_ is what froze her in place in his office during their conversation. Despite her feelings, she was still the Inquisitor, he was the Commander—he had a duty to his troops, to her, and if he failed, he’d have to be removed. The Inquisitor had to acknowledge that—the Inquisitor wasn’t supposed to care about anything else. The Commander’s health was only important insofar as he did his job.

Katria walked back over to her desk and drained her glass. She should talk to him. She’d been so cold because she was so confused. That wasn’t an excuse. She wanted to try to help him, if he’d let her. If he even wanted her to. 

===

Katria made plans to leave for the Western Approach fairly quickly after her return from the Dales. The Inquisition had little intelligence on the Venatori, and they needed more. The Venatori were mostly concentrated in the Western Approach, so even though she heard it was a miserable desert wasteland, it needed to be investigated. Cullen had deployed troops there while she was returning from the Dales. As soon as she heard from them, she planned to leave. 

Not because she was trying to avoid a certain Commander of a certain Inquisition. No, Katria did not avoid Cullen at all. She gave him her full, rapt attention whenever he spoke in the War Room. Except that attention was directed at the scar on his lip, the strong line of his jaw, the stubble that grew there. Maker, what gave that man the right to be so handsome? 

But, she knew she had to talk to him _outside_ of the War Room eventually. At night, two days after he’d told her about his decision to no longer take lyrium, Katria found him standing on the battlements by a torch, the light from the fire bouncing off his face as he looked down the walls, his expression melancholy.

Katria made no noise as she settled herself beside him. She rested the length of her forearms on the stone walls and peeked over them. 

“Not many foxes out there, I discovered.” 

“What?” 

She scratched the spot behind her ear. “I went out to find one for you to apologize, but the forest around here is empty.” 

The corner of his mouth turned up. “We need to find another way to express remorse, Inquisitor.” 

Katria laughed, until he turned to her and furrowed his brow. 

“What do you need to apologize for?” 

She bit down on her lip and looked out into the darkness as he faced her, leaning on the battlements himself. 

“Cullen, when you told me you’d stopped taking lyrium, and that it could kill you, I was terrified.” 

He groaned. “That _isn’t_ what I wanted; you have enough to deal with and you shouldn’t-,” 

“Well, that’s just too bad,” she cut in, finally turning to face him. “You are my friend, and I’m going to worry about you whether you like it or not.” Katria put her hand to her temple and sighed. “I was so awful, when you told me. I didn’t ask how you were feeling, I didn’t tell you that I would do anything in my power to help you. I was so….professional.”

“It’s alright,” he whispered. 

She shook her head. “I should have done better. I know that.” Katria stepped towards him, so they were leaning against the same expanse of stone. “Cullen, it doesn’t have to be me, but I think you should talk to _someone_ about this. I know you, and I know you aren’t taking care of yourself like you should.” 

“I am taking care of myself,” he grumbled. She could just barely see a blush rising to his cheeks. He turned so his chest was pressed against the wall, his elbows propped in front of him. 

Katria snorted. “What are the dark circles under your eyes from then? You let Bailey put some make up on you and it rubbed off?” 

Cullen grinned, but was trying to hide it. He looked at her and then at his folded hands. 

“I…want to talk to you,” he said after a few moments.

Katria smiled. She scooted forward to lay her forehead against his shoulder—well, the cool metal plate that covered his shoulder. The fur on his coat tickled her nose. 

“Are you in pain?” she asked him. 

Cullen had curled one of his hands into a fist, and Katria wondered if she’d upset him by being in such close proximity. She stepped away and settled for leaning beside him on the wall. 

“I can endure it,” he assured her. 

Katria sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to.” 

“So do I,” Cullen murmured. 

She let her head fall into her open palms. “Maker, that was not a helpful thing to say. I am…I am not good at this.” She peeked up at him with one eye. “Unless you think a joke would ease your suffering because I can definitely do that. Laughter is a form of medicine.”

“That’s assuming I actually laugh at any of your jokes.”

Katria shoved him with one hand, holding a scowl on her face before she lost the expression in a peal of laughter. “I warned you about insulting my sense of humor, Commander.” 

Cullen smirked. “I do so humbly beg your pardon, Inquisitor.”

She smiled mischievously at him. “Unfortunately, you’ve committed an unforgiveable offense. So, unless you plan on taming a dragon and presenting it to me as an apology, I’m afraid I have to dock your pay.” 

She paused and crinkled her brow. “ _Do_ you get paid? Do _I_ get paid?”

Cullen shook his head, the corner of his mouth still drawn in a smile. “You are the leader of the Inquisition. You can have anything you want. It’s not about being paid.” 

Katria turned sideways and leaned towards him. “Can I have your fur coat?” 

“W-Why?” he asked, his hand reaching up to touch the red cloth near his chest. “Are you cold? We can have one made for you if you’d like…” 

She grinned. “Oh, I just want yours so you can’t wear it anymore.” 

Cullen dropped his hand. “In that case, no,” he replied. “No, you may not have my coat.” 

“Prick,” she said, as she turned back to the wall and nudged him with her shoulder. She settled so that the length of her forearm was pressed against his bracers. It didn’t seem to upset him, so she stayed there. 

“Cullen, I want you to promise that when you write me, you’ll tell me about how you’re doing.” 

He shook his head. “You do not need to be worrying about that when you’re fighting-,”

“I will worry more if you don’t tell me. Even just one sentence letting me know you’re doing okay would make me feel so much better,” Katria insisted. 

Cullen exhaled through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “I promise.” 

===

_Cullen,_

_If I didn’t hate Corypheus and his Venatori before, I do now. Of all the fucking places in Thedas they could chose to do their work, they had to pick the Western Approach. How rude. I mean, honestly, I put up with so much as the Inquisitor, the least I should get is the opportunity to travel to nice, temperate areas where every two steps I take I’m not being attacked by some terrifying reptilian beast. Why couldn’t they center their operations by a beach? Or maybe on the shores of Lake Calenhad? Alright, I’m sorry, I’m done complaining. _

_Our first order of business here was to investigate a report that Scout Harding intercepted from a Venatori agent. We located the mine mentioned in the correspondence, but it was abandoned. They evidentially heard of our movement in the area and have relocated to the Emprise du Lion. Perhaps the letters we found in the Emerald Graves could provide a more precise location?_

_Oh, and because of course the quillbacks, phoenixes, hyenas, and bandits weren’t enough of a problem, there’s an Abyssal High Dragon around. Possibly against my better judgment, we are helping an Orlesian scholar in the area named Frederic track this dragon for academic purposes. He is an odd man. I feel like he and Solas would get along swimmingly._

_There is a fortress here that is currently occupied by the Venatori. We are planning an assault, and it should go far in interfering with Venatori operations in the area if we’re successful. Which we will be, obviously. So stop worrying._

_I cannot wait to leave this blighted desert and return to you. And everyone._

_Katria_

_===_

_Katria,_

_My other reports have confirmed the low morale the Western Approach has fostered among the troops. It is an unpleasant and difficult place. I think there are some things we could do to remedy that for those who will remain in the area after you return to Skyhold._

_As the Commander of your army, I encourage you to avoid engaging in combat with a dragon. That is incredibly dangerous, and you or someone else could be severely injured. Katria, for the Maker’s sake, please don’t fight the dragon._

_I continue my research on the letters you found in the Emerald Graves. We are slowly narrowing down possible locations in the Emprise du Lion that the red Templars are using as their source of lyrium._

_Cullen_

_===_

_Cullen,_

_Assault on Griffon Wing Keep was successful. A small contingent of your troops has arrived here, accompanied by Knight-Captain Rylen. The fort is in good shape and very defensible, but the main source of water has been tampered with. And by tampered with, I mean the Venatori dropped bodies into the well beneath the keep— very unpleasant, and I now have a whole list of reasons why I hate these fucking cultists. There is a source of water nearby infested with varghests (of course) that we are going to clear out tomorrow._

_Oh, did I mention the darkspawn? Yes, there’s darkspawn. We cannot pinpoint where they are coming from. There are sulphur pits in the area that they seem to be crossing. Lieutenant Tamsen thinks a bridge could be built with some reinforcements, so we can cross the pits._

_I noticed in your last correspondence there was no mention of your personal health. If you continue to not keep me updated on how you’re doing, my distress might just compel me to fight a dragon._

_Katria_

_===_

_Katria,_

_I was glad to hear you successfully captured the keep. It will be an excellent base of operations for the Inquisition, and I am confident that Knight-Captain Rylen will properly manage the fort’s affairs. Securing a reliable water source will be very important for that area._

_I have sent reinforcements to build a bridge across the sulphur pits. It’s ugly work, but I have deployed enough troops that it will be done safely, and then you can investigate where the darkspawn are coming from._

_I see Josephine has been teaching you the art of using thinly-veiled threats in preparation for the Grand Masquerade. Although you might need a little more practice—threatening to fight a dragon is not exactly subtle._

_Nevertheless, I do apologize for not telling you how I’m doing. As a recompense for that, I will include two sentences on my health, rather than the previously agreed-upon single sentence: I’m fine. Really._

_Cullen_

_===_

_Cullen,_

_Been on the road for a while. Cass predicts we should be arriving to Skyhold within the fortnight. I received your forwarded report about the situation in the Fallow Mire. I will leave to retrieve those soldiers as soon as possible. I have a minor shoulder injury that should heal after a little rest at Skyhold—I dislocated it or something fighting a Hurlock. I’ll be fine._

_See you soon._

_Katria_

_PS: That did not count as two sentences—you are the most insufferable man in all of Thedas, I hope you know that_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fewer letters this time, but more physical contact, so hooray?


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

The Inquisitor’s version of “resting” before she left for the Fallow Mire was quite counterintuitive. Cullen could imagine that Marianne had ordered Katria to lay low, use her shoulder less, and get plenty of sleep. She did none of those things. Cullen recalled seeing Katria in the garden pulling weeds and sparring with Cassandra on multiple occasions, which could not be good for her recovery. 

Cullen agreed with the healer’s assessment, and when he saw her in the courtyard in the middle of the day with sword in hand, he approached her. He thought he could distract her with the new information he had about the red Templars. As Cullen passed the tavern, he saw that she was not practicing with Cassandra. She was instead sparring with a taller, dark-haired man—Cullen recognized him as the Inquisition duelist. They almost had to dispatch him to Val Royeaux a few weeks ago when an angry noble had challenged Cullen to a duel. 

Cullen noticed quite proudly that Katria was beating the man with ease. He knew their duelist was seasoned, but Katria seemed to be able to anticipate each of his moves. The months she had spent practicing paid off. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

The duelist staggered backwards and fell to the ground. He lifted his hand. 

“I yield!” 

Katria sheathed her sword and walked over to help him up. “Not bad this time.” 

He stood and wiped the dirt off his breeches. “You are an incredibly talented woman, Inquisitor.” His accent sounded Orlesian, which made sense—most Fereldens didn’t duel. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to flatter me?” 

The man smiled. “Absolutely.”

Cullen hurried over; he wasn’t concerned about being impolite and interrupting them any longer. 

“Inquisitor,” he began. “Do you have a moment?” 

Katria turned slightly, her hand on her hip. Her face was dotted with sweat, some of her loose brown hair clinging to her temples. “Of course, Commander.” 

She pointed back at the duelist. “I will see you tomorrow, Bonheur. Don’t forget I won that bottle of Mackay’s single malt from you.” 

He bowed slightly, before taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. 

“Certainly, my Lady Inquisitor.” 

The man—Bonheur—saluted to Cullen across the chest and left. 

Katria turned and rolled her eyes. “Orlesians,” she muttered to Cullen, which made him smile slightly and no longer want to snap the man’s neck in half.

“Why do you spar with him?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “He _is_ a duelist. The only one here. I like to keep up my form.” 

Cullen just grunted.

Katria had a bemused look on her face. “Did you come here to exchange actual words with me?” 

He gave her the report in his hand. “The smugglers we interrogated gave up the Red Templars’ main source of lyrium.”

“Where is it?” Katria asked. 

“It’s located in a town called Sahrina in the Emprise du Lion,” Cullen said. “Destroying the mine there will cripple Samson’s operation.”

“Excellent work, Commander,” she said, smiling at him. “Send Scout Harding to investigate the area right away.” 

Katria reached up and pushed her sweaty hair off her face. He noticed she had dark circles under her eyes. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. 

“We’re…getting pulled in a lot of different directions,” she admitted, rubbing the side of her face. “I’ve got to go to the Fallow Mire, Varric’s friend is arriving tomorrow, Josephine is absolutely _hounding_ me about the Masquerade, and…” She waved her hands vaguely in the air. “A million other things I can’t remember.” 

“Sounds like you need to take some of your own advice,” Cullen remarked pointedly. “About paying attention and taking care of yourself.”

“Commander,” a voice from behind them said. 

Cullen turned, and Katria slipped past him as he accepted a report from one of his men. 

“Bye, Cullen,” she said softly, walking over towards the steps leading up to the Great Hall. He did not want her to leave. In fact, he never wanted her to leave. He knew he was in very dangerous territory, feeling the way he did about her. It had only gotten worse. 

The first week she was gone to the Western Approach, Marianne barged into his office without knocking, shoving all manner of poultices and potions into his hands, firmly insisting he take them at certain times, before he went to bed, when he had a headache—they didn’t solve all his problems, but they helped. Cullen knew that Katria had asked Marianne for these things. When she returned to Skyhold, tea, sometimes food, would randomly appear on his desk, accompanied by notes with thinly-veiled threats about what would happen if he didn’t eat like he was supposed to. 

Cullen convinced himself that even though these kind gestures had made him fairly infatuated with her, they weren’t an indication of any strong feelings she had for him. That was just the way Katria was. The big picture—being in charge and running the Inquisition—seemed to scare her, even though she did it anyway, so she found solace in small things like pulling weeds in the garden, picking herbs, delivering things to him. It wasn’t because of any affection she might have. 

And even _if_ by some miracle she would perhaps tolerate any romantic advance—would it really be prudent? She was the Inquisitor. Their ability to do their jobs would decide the fate of Thedas; they could not afford to fail or be distracted. The people needed her. 

He called her Inquisitor more often, now. He had to. He wanted it to punctuate all of his sentences because if he called her Katria, he knew he’d give in. He had to remind himself who she was and what was at stake, so that he didn’t do anything that he might very much enjoy, but ultimately regret. 

===

A sharp pain shot through Katria’s shoulder as she patted down a patch of dirt in the garden. She ignored it, but could practically hear Marianne’s voice snapping at her for her incompetence. She couldn’t help that sitting idle and letting her shoulder heal properly made her thoughts drift where she didn’t want them to go—her past, all the pressure she was under, and recently, her ill-advised attachment to Cullen. Why exactly did this physical attraction have to be to a man who was literally never not working? 

Katria stood from the bed of herbs and looked down at her shirt. Josephine had previously berated her for doing work in the garden in her nice clothes, so Katria was especially careful nowadays. This time, there were only some stains on her knees, and she hurriedly tried to make them less visible. 

She was making her way back to the Great Hall, when she spotted Dorian and Cullen seated in front of a chess set. Against her better judgment, she turned her course towards them. 

“Gloat all you like,” Cullen said to the mage. “I have this one.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sassing me, Commander?” he asked. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

Cullen shook his head. “Why do I even-,” His gaze stopped on her, and his eyes widened. “Inquisitor!” 

Dorian smirked as Cullen moved to get out of his chair. “Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” 

Katria walked over and leaned against the edge of Dorian’s seat. She studied the board for a moment. Cullen was winning. “Are you two playing nice?” 

“My dear, I am _always_ nice,” Dorian replied, reaching forward to move one of his pieces. He looked up at Cullen. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen had an incredibly conceited look on his face. “Really?” he said, sliding his piece across the board with a flourish. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” 

Dorian lifted his hands. “Don’t get smug,” he said, as he pushed himself from his chair. “There will be no living with you.”

Dorian looked at her and grinned. “I’m sure our Commander won’t mind if _you_ play dirty with him,” he whispered near her ear. 

Katria smacked him on the shoulder and reddened. Maker, she hoped Cullen had not heard that. 

He probably hadn’t—he wasn’t blushing; instead, he just smiled up at her. “I should return to my duties, as well.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “Unless….you would care for a game?” 

Katria flopped down in the chair. “I’m no good. You’ll win—which I guess means this will be fun for you.” 

Cullen began setting the pieces. “It takes practice. As a child, I played with my sister.” He shook his head. “She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won—which was _all_ the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won….” His smile faded slightly, and he leaned back. “Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years.” 

“You have siblings?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Two sisters and a brother.”

“Where are they now?” 

Cullen moved his first piece. “They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should.” 

Katria looked down at the board. It had been a very long time since she’d played. She wondered briefly if she could get away with cheating. Wouldn’t hurt to try. “With everything that’s happening—do you know if they’re alright?” 

“They are,” Cullen said. “I’ve received word from my eldest sister. She was always good at tracking me down. South Reach has experienced the same chaos as everywhere else.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Your sister ‘tracked you down?’ She didn’t know where you were?” 

He shrugged. “I let her know I was in Haven. She assumed I survived.” 

_“Cullen.”_

His gaze jerked up. “Well, it’s not the first time,” he said sheepishly. “I may have neglected to tell her when I was transferred to Kirkwall.” 

“Why?” Katria asked. 

“I wasn’t in a good state,” he said quietly, folding his hands together in his lap. “I wanted only to leave. I received an angry letter about my disappearance two years later.” 

“You are lucky to have a family that you actually, you know, _like_ ,” Katria said. “Write to them more.” 

Cullen raised his eyebrow. “Is that an order?” 

She grinned. “Definitely.” 

Katria put her finger on one of her pieces. “How does this one move again?” 

“Diagonally,” he said. “Do you know how to play?” 

“It’s been a while,” she admitted. “Not many chess sets in the taverns I went to, and even back in Ostwick, playing against my siblings was….depressing? They were very good, and I was focused on other pursuits. Stabbing things for practice, mostly.”

Katria lifted her head and waved to Blackwall as he walked past. Cullen briefly turned, and Katria swept her hand over the board. 

His gaze slid back to her, and he narrowed his eyes. “That piece wasn’t there a moment ago.” 

Katria leaned against the arm rest of her chair, putting her finger against her lower lip. “Are you accusing your Inquisitor of cheating? That’s not allowed.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said smugly. “I’ll win anyway.” 

He did. He was very good at chess, which was to be expected. Other than her losing, because he caught her cheating four separate times, it was fun. He liked her stories, and they talked about places in Ferelden. He didn’t call her Katria, but she did feel much more normal. 

They just finished their game when Cullen began returning the pieces to their starting positions. “Okay,” he said, sounding a little excited. “This time, don’t cheat. I want to see what you’ve got.” 

Katria grinned. “You want to play again?” 

He looked up, hands hovering over the pieces he meant to move. His cheeks reddened. “O-Oh, ah, yes. I thought, I mean, if you don’t-,” 

She waved her hand. “No, no, I want to.” She crinkled her nose. “But no cheating? Really? That sounds so…tame.” 

“Try it,” he pleaded. “You’ll be better at it than you think. I’ve seen you fight—you have good form, you’ve mastered plenty of tricks, but what you’re _really_ astounding at is anticipating your opponent’s next move. That requires a strategic mind.” 

Astounding. He’d said _astounding_. About her combat skills. Katria was going to reply—kiss him, maybe, but probably not, even if she wanted to—when a scout jogged up to them. 

“Commander, the report you requested,” the soldier said. 

Katria leaned back, trying not to seem too disappointed. 

Cullen looked at the scout, then at her, and cleared his throat. “Thank you, but you can put it in my office. I will get to it.” 

The soldier saluted and then walked away. 

Katria shifted, putting her chin on her hand. “Wow. I must be very special to be able to tear your eyes away from an Inquisition report.” 

“You are.” 

Cullen seemed to realize the implications of what he said and fixed his gaze on the chess board. “Well, ah, it’s your turn. Don’t cheat. But it’s your turn.” 

Katria chuckled. “Okay, I’ll try. No promises.” 

She was quieter this game, genuinely trying to focus on winning. She made a few moves she felt were competent. 

“You’re doing well,” he said after a time. 

“Don’t patronize me,” she muttered. 

He smiled slightly as he moved one of his pieces. Katria’s hand shot out.

“No,” she said, as she moved it back. “No, that’s a terrible move. Quit trying to let me win.” 

“I-I wasn’t,” Cullen stammered. 

Katria gave him a skeptical look, and he sighed. 

“Alright, fine.” He moved another piece that pinned her in. “Check,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, I immediately regret that,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

Cullen won—again—in another few moves. He shifted in his chair. 

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition. Or related matters,” he remarked, fidgeting with a seam on his glove. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.” 

Katria reached up and touched the braid Bailey had put in her hair that morning. “We should spend more time together.” 

He looked at her, his expression startled, before he smiled slightly. “I would like that.” 

“Me too.” 

Cullen let his gaze trail down to the ground as he blushed. “You said that,” he murmured. 

Katria brought her brows together for a moment before grinning. Sort of seemed like he was stating the obvious, but then she considered his tone—he sounded a little awe-struck, like he simply could not believe she would want to spend time with him. 

“I…” Cullen hastily stood from his chair. “I really must be going, Inquisitor. I apologize for keeping you for so long.”

“Apologize for…?” She shook her head. “Cullen-,”

He gave her a brief nod and then hurried off into the garden. Katria watched him go and then sunk back against her chair. That had gone very well, and then very poorly. He’d let that professional façade break for a moment, then seemed to immediately regret it. She wanted to talk to him more, to be more personal, because he seemed to like her too, but if that was not a direction he wanted to be pushed in, there was little hope of anything coming out of it except disappointment.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Cullen was sitting at his desk with his fist pressed against his forehead. He should have been going to get dinner, or even maybe to sleep—it wasn’t too late in the evening, but there weren’t any matters that couldn’t be dealt with in the morning, and Maker knows he needed as much rest as he could get. Instead, he continued to think about the interaction he had with Katria a few days ago; how stupid he had been. She said she wanted to spend more time with him, and it had made him gloriously happy at first. Then came the realization that the more he saw her, the more he’d like her, and the harder it would be to keep himself from blurting out some foolish romantic confession. A confession he should not even make because of his duty to the Inquisition. Yet somehow all he could think about was how nice it would be to visit her. Cullen drummed his fingers against his desk.

There _was_ a report that he could deliver to her. Varric’s friend— _Hawke_ , because of course—had arrived with information about Corypheus. Katria had some agents deployed to search for Hawke’s Warden friend, and they had found some leads in Crestwood. It was an important matter. The Inquisitor would likely want the information as soon as possible. 

Cullen grabbed the report and made his way to the Great Hall. It was still fairly crowded with Josephine’s noble guests, other visitors, and people on breaks, so he made his way with his head down to the Inquisitor’s door. There were two guards outside, and just as he was about to ask them if she was present, the door flew open. Cullen stepped back, and the Inquisition’s duelist walked past him.

“Commander,” he said, giving a polite nod. 

Cullen swallowed and did not reply to him. Instead, he looked back at the closing door. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Most of Katria’s inner-circle and her advisors went into her room whenever they wanted since it was her office too. He hadn’t visited Katria often, and yet here he was, loitering, and completely flustered. 

One of the soldiers standing in front of him was watching him, brows furrowed. 

“The Inquisitor is in her office, ser.” 

The soldier turned and knocked on the door twice. 

“Wait, no-,” Cullen hissed, but stopped when he heard her voice. 

“Come in!” 

Cullen reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed and dropped his hand, pushing through the door and trudging up the stairs. He hesitantly peeked over the wall. Katria was leaning against her desk, staring at the floor, with a glass in her hand. A half empty bottle was beside her. Her mouth was scrunched up on one side of her face, her brows knit together. 

“I-I’m sorry to bother you,” he stammered. There was another empty glass on the other side of her—probably one that duelist was drinking from. He shrunk back. “I interrupted something, I should go.” 

Katria lifted her head. “You didn’t interrupt anything.” 

“You looked troubled,” he said, then his tone turned hostile. “That Orlesian, he didn’t upset you, did he?” 

She finished her drink—it was almost full—then poured herself another. “No. I asked him to leave. A shame. He had nice arms.” 

Cullen walked further into the room. “What happened?” 

Katria shrugged. “He asked if he could come in, have a drink—this is _very_ expensive whiskey, so I said yes. He complimented my eyes while trying to kiss me, and that was the end of that. He was nice about it.” 

“Why…is that bad? The compliment, I mean.” 

Katria tapped her thumb against her glass. “Trevelyans have dark hair and dark eyes. I have dark hair and blue eyes. Just another reason my father disdained me.” 

She made a disgusted noise. “I have had entirely too much to drink. Look how sentimental I’m being. Pathetic.” She shifted her body so it was facing him. “Why are you here?” 

“I wanted to, um, deliver this report about Hawke’s Warden friend, Inquisitor,” Cullen explained. “We have some leads about his location.” 

Katria jumped up from her reclined position, finished her drink, again, and tried to pour herself another before Cullen hurried over to grab it from her.

“You’ve probably had-,” 

Katria staggered backwards, one hand raised. “Be careful, men have broken bones trying to get drinks from me.” 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked her, leaning against the desk so her view of the bottle was obscured. 

“I am _great_ ,” she said, throwing her arms out and sloshing some of her drink onto her sleeve. “I get the pleasure of spending the rest of my life entirely alone!” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you say that?” 

“Why?” she asked cynically. “I’m the Inquisitor—that’s all people see, that’s all people want. Men like Bonheur give me expensive things and are nice to me and flirt with me because I am in a position of power.” She took a sip of her drink. “And the people who don’t want to take advantage of my political situation see me as some perfect, glowing Herald.” 

“Not everyone thinks like that,” Cullen insisted gently. 

“Really?” she snapped. “Because even to _you_ I’m not Katria.”

“I-,” He cleared his throat. “I don’t only see you as the Inquisitor.”

“Probably should,” she muttered. She walked over and reached behind him, grabbing the neck of the bottle she’d been drinking from. She emptied the contents into her glass. “ _Katria_ isn’t much of a hero. More of a frivolous drunk. Bastard child. Murdered her own brother. It’s all very charming, clearly.”

Cullen sighed. “You didn’t murder your brother.” 

Katria shoved the empty bottle into his hands. “Oh, you’re right, perhaps ‘I burned my brother alive’ would be a more accurate statement.” 

He winced. “I didn’t-,” 

She turned away from him and waved her hand. “Forget it. Leave the report on my desk. I’ll look at it in the morning.” 

Cullen hesitated. “Katria,” he whispered. 

Her shoulders tensed. “No. No, Cullen, you _don’t_ get to do this now. It's too late. Please just go. This isn’t worth your time.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to leave, probably shouldn’t. 

Katria exhaled and bowed her head. “I’m in my room. I’m safe here. I’d like to be alone, Commander.” 

He tossed the report on the desk behind her. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he mumbled. 

Cullen left her quarters with no further words and went straight to Marianne’s room, where he awkwardly fumbled around an explanation of what had happened. The healer gave him a skeptical look at first, but then agreed to check on Katria, which made Cullen feel better about returning to his office. 

His mood did not improve once he was there. Why could he _never_ get anything right around her? Cullen knew in his mind that if a friend was upset or suffering, he was supposed to comfort them, but, of course, he said none of the correct things. He felt guilt in the pit of his stomach; he had been trying to push her away because of his strong feelings for her, and rather than them remaining friends, it was severing their ties completely. He _should_ call her Katria, in the right places, because it was important to him that they were friends. Maybe he should tell her that? Cullen sighed and buried his face in his hand. Of course he should. 

===

Katria felt like she’d been clobbered on the back of the head with Iron Bull’s axe. She woke at dawn, fully clothed, and curled in her bed, squinting at the light pouring in from her balcony. Marianne was there, making some tea.

“The thirty-one year old woman with a childish inability to confront her problems finally rises,” she grumbled. The healer carried a saucer and cup over to her. 

“I wouldn’t consider using whiskey to forget my problems _childish_ ,” Katria replied groggily. 

Marianne smacked her on the back of the head. “Not funny.”

Katria yelped from the pain that shot through her temple and covered herself completely with her blanket. “I turned thirty-two a few weeks ago,” she said, her voice muffled.

She heard the tea cup clink against the table beside her bed and felt the mattress sink in from Marianne’s weight. “Quit changing the subject. What is the matter?” she asked, still sounding a little impatient. 

Katria pulled the blanket to her chest, staring up at the ceiling. “This job isn’t easy, you know.” 

“You’ve been the Inquisitor for months,” Marianne said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is this about Commander Cullen?” 

“Cullen?” she said incredulously. “No. Not even a little. I like him, sure, but he’s deeply committed to his job and I’m his boss. That’s fine.”

Katria put her palm to her temple and sighed. “I…haven’t slept in a few days. Yesterday, Cass and Varric were _literally_ at each other’s throats. Blackwall gave me this big, long speech about how I need to be Andraste’s messenger because without me everyone would be consumed by despair.” She let her hand fall against her blanket. “Those are big, terrifying expectations. Then Bonheur—the duelist—came by with, you know, _obvious_ goals, and I…I don’t know, he’s been nice to me, very thoughtful, and I didn’t think anything would happen anyway…” 

Katria rubbed her face. “Turns out his kindness and charm was just motivated by me being the Inquisitor. He was painstakingly transparent.” 

“That is to be expected, you realize,” Marianne said. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” she muttered back. “I just…had this crushing realization that everyone I’ll ever meet, probably for the rest of my life, will look at me and see the Inquisitor. Or worse, the Herald of Andraste.” 

Marianne shrugged. “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” 

“I liked being a normal person,” Katria said, rolling over onto her side. “A nobody. When I had friends, it was because I was liked as a _person_ , not because I had a certain title. Now, everyone clamors for my attention just because of what other people call me.”

The healer leaned in and patted her shoulder with a gentle expression. 

“I think you’re just going to have to suck it up.” 

Katria wiggled out of her grasp. “That was so comforting,” she deadpanned. 

Marianne stood. “I do what I can.” 

The healer clasped her bag shut. “Drink your tea and eat something before you go to work. You should talk to Commander Cullen—he was the one that came by last night, asking if I’d check in on you. He was very frazzled; I’m not sure he knew how to help you.” Marianne shook her head. “Not that I really know either, because you’re insufferable at times.” 

Katria exhaled. “Thanks, Marianne. Not sarcastically, I’m honestly grateful. You’re one of the few people whose favorite phrase isn’t _yes, Inquisitor_ or _of course, Your Worship_.”

Marianne hiked her bag on her shoulder and put a plate of food on her bed before she left. Katria laid face down in her pillow for a few minutes, feeling embarrassed about her behavior, and then wondering if what she told Marianne about Cullen was true. Well, it _was_ true, his job was more important to him than any lingering looks he might give her, but was she really so nonchalant about it? She…very much enjoyed his company.

Katria threw herself out the bed, forcing her mind to more important matters, like eating and changing into some clean clothes. Once she was suitably ready, she made her way to the War Room. There were still a few hours before her daily meeting with her advisors, and it was quite early in the morning overall, so the room was quiet and would not further irritate her massive headache. 

Once her location was discovered, however, messengers began streaming in periodically to attend to Inquisition business. Katria sighed and looked up from the table when two soldiers came in at the same time. She accepted notes from them both, browsed them, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

She turned to the first young man. “Tell Bull that if he wants to go to the Winter Palace and kill Tevinter assassins, he _has_ to wear a shirt.” She pointed to the taller, dark-haired woman beside him. “And please remind Lady Josephine that I have no preference concerning the style of the curtains in the Great Hall. I defer to her judgment. She can embroider her face in them for all I care.” Katria stopped and waved her hand. “Wait, don’t tell her that last part.”

They both saluted her and departed. Katria was about to turn her attention to the report she received about Crestwood, when the door creaked back open. She saw Cullen standing there, and immediately felt herself redden. 

“Maker’s balls, this is going to be embarrassing,” she said under her breath. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Cullen said, as he walked into the room and stood next to her on the far side of the table. “Are you alright?” 

Katria winced. “Yes, yes, I’m completely fine. In fact, if we could just _not_ talk about what happened last night that would be great.”

She had her palm rested on the table beside her, and Cullen covered his hand with hers. 

“I don’t want you to feel alone,” he said. 

“I…” Katia felt her pulse in her ears, on her neck, partially because of how much whiskey she consumed last night, but also because Cullen was very close to her. “I-I don’t feel like that anymore.” 

His eyes were downcast as he ran his thumb along the top of her hand. “Katria, you aren’t just the Inquisitor to me. Not at all.” 

Oh, Maker. It really wasn’t fair, him having that voice and saying her name like that. Katria felt weak in her knees, like they’d been liquefied. What exactly was his game in admitting these things? What was he doing—they were in the _War Room_ for Andraste’s sake, the nexus of the whole Inquisition. 

“I’m glad,” she manage to squeak out before he looked at her and those _deliberately_ unfair brown eyes met hers. 

“I want you to know that you can always talk to me. I…don’t always know the right thing to say, but I will always try to help.” 

Katria tugged nervously on her braid and looked away from him. “Good. I mean, great. H-How long have you been practicing this, exactly?” 

“A…while,” he said, swallowing. “I wanted to get it right. You seemed upset with me last night.” 

“Maker, Cullen, I wasn’t upset with you,” Katria said, groaning. “I was being stupid and sentimental but in a _bad_ way because my day wasn’t great, and apparently that whiskey packed more of a wallop than I expected.” She waved her free hand in the air. “I was mad at…everything, I don’t know. The universe.” 

Katria sighed. “In fact, _you_ make the universe slightly more…tolerable with your presence. I guess.” 

Despite the fact that was easily the _worst_ compliment she’d ever given someone, Cullen removed his hand and blushed, quickly losing the practiced emotional competency he had earlier.

“T-Thank you, Inquis-,” Cullen looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “ _Katria._ I meant Katria.” 

She turned around so her back was pressed against the table. She shook her head and grinned at him. “You’ve ruined it now.”

“Force of habit,” he said. “Also, we’re in the War Room. Inquisitor seems like a more appropriate title.” 

Katria chuckled. “It’s not my fault you came in _here_ with your well-rehearsed emotional confessions.” 

“I couldn’t wait,” he said.

“Oh, I’m aware you have little patience, Cullen. What was your solution to the trouble I was having with some distant Trevelyans? No diplomacy, just openly denounce them. Or my favorite, when you suggested-,” 

“Yes, you have made your point,” he said hurriedly, blushing.

“I’m not criticizing you,” Katria assured him. “In fact, I find your military advice just _astounding_.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

She gave him a little push. “ _Don’t_ say it’s because I’m making bad jokes again.” 

He smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Katria.”

Oh, yes, if he kept going at this rate, she was going to do something brash. In the War Room. Which seemed like a very inappropriate place for the Inquisitor to try anything. Katria tapped her knuckles against the table. 

“I’ve got some reports that need reading. Update me on Crestwood at the meeting later?” 

Cullen straightened. “Absolutely. Thank you for your time.”

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Stop _thanking_ me for that—I enjoy spending time with you, I’m not doing you a favor.” 

“Right, of course,” he said sheepishly. She released her grip and Cullen backed away. 

“I will see you…later, then,” he said, as he made his way to the door. “Soon. But later.” 

Katria picked up a stack of letters off the table. “Bye, Cullen.” 

She looked up once she heard the door shut behind him. Yes, she had definitely been dishonest with Marianne. It wasn’t fine that things might not work out with him. She _wanted_ them to work. Quite badly. Katria trapped her foot against the smooth stone floor beneath her, making a low growling noise in her throat.

If she really… _wanted_ to be with him, she’d need to make an attempt. Katria was not the sort of person that waited around for things to happen, although the other men she’d been with—well, none of them had been particularly serious relationships. Oh, and of course, none of them had been the commander of an army that technically belonged to her. That, as usual, complicated things infinitely.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter this evening because I won't be able to update for a few days. Thanks as always for reading!

Katria stopped by Cullen’s office in the evening after she’d had dinner with some nobles he had forgotten the names of. Cullen had just finished a long series of reports and was sitting back to give his writing hand a break. His fingers were shaking as they hung off the arm of his chair, and he exhaled and clenched his fist. 

The door across from him swung open, and he started to stand, until he saw the flash of Katria’s braid. He collapsed back against his chair as she greeted him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him, as she walked towards his shelves. She was balancing some books in one of her hands. 

“I’m fine,” Cullen replied. 

Katria put the books on the edge of his desk, her palm rested on top of them. “You want to try that again?” 

He looked up at her. “I _am_ fine. It’s not been a bad day.” 

She smiled. “Good.” She looked happy, like she had a genuine concern for his well-being. A blush crept up his neck, and he averted his gaze to his desk. 

Katria began putting the books back on his shelf, and he jumped up. “Wait, Inquisitor, there’s a special system to….” 

She spun around, holding one to her chest. His momentum had brought him too close to her. He could see more clearly the smoothness of her lips, the way they stretched as she smiled slightly at him. 

He took a small step back and bowed his head, reprimanding himself for such thoughts. “I-I organize the books a certain way.” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there were different categories of military strategy.” 

“Of course there are,” he grumbled. 

She turned back around to his shelf, and Cullen gripped the edge of his desk. She slid a book back in the wrong place. 

“Not there,” he said. 

Katria shifted her weight and moved it up to the next shelf. 

“Still no.” 

She laughed. “Maker’s balls, Cullen. I’ve actually peeked into some of these books. They’re not worth categorizing.” She tried one last spot. That was still wrong. 

“Maybe not for you,” he replied. Cullen cautiously stepped forward to grab the book and put it in the right spot, but his hand instead brushed hers. He jumped back like he’d been shocked. 

“Forgive me.” 

Katria looked over her shoulder. “Why do you look so scared? I won’t bite.” She turned back around and gave a one shoulder shrug. “Unless you want me to, of course.” 

Cullen’s face turned crimson. “Maker’s breath,” he blurted out, not at her, more to the air around him that seemed to be constricting him with every breath.

Katria looked at him, her expression startled. “Oh! Oh, Cullen, I’m sorry. I didn’t….” She pressed her lips together, but a giggle still escaped. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not…It’s not, I’m-” Nothing coherent followed after because he just wanted to kiss her, but he would _not_ be doing that. The Commander of the Inquisitor doesn’t kiss his Inquisitor. The Inquisitor.

She was still smiling. She never seemed to care when he was making an idiot out of himself. “You don’t have to talk. Just show me where this goes.” 

Cullen watched her lean her shoulder against the shelf. It was easier to breathe when her eyes weren’t on him. “Ah…alright.” 

He turned red rapidly again because she turned her head to watch him as he sorted through the pile on his desk. Cullen cleared his throat twice in quick succession before shuffling over. 

He slid the book back in its proper place— _Maker’s breath she was still staring at him_. In silence. Cullen could think of many times when Katria had spent too much time talking. She was always talking. Yet here she was now, leaning against his bookshelf, arms crossed, staring up at him with what he assumed was a smirk. He hadn’t actually worked up the courage to look at her face, so he wasn’t sure. 

Cullen swallowed and risked a sideways glance at her. She was not smirking. Her expression was blank, curious, if anything, her eyebrows slightly puckered together. She let her arms fall to her side. Then she reached out and buried her fingers into his pauldron, yanking him towards her. The book he was holding fell to the ground, and the next thing he felt were his hands braced on either side of the shelf she now had her back against. Her other hand had weaved its way into his pauldron, and she was staring at him intently with the same expression. Still, she didn’t say anything.

Cullen could feel the blood pumping in his ears and knew Katria was close enough to hear his heart hammering under his breastplate. There should have been words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t order them, couldn’t even _think_ of them, because of his overwhelming desire to close the little distance between them.

The minute the thought of kissing her crossed his mind all he heard was _no, no, no_ ; he had sworn he wouldn’t do this—it was too much to ask, he wasn’t worthy. She had told him what she wanted and he wasn’t it. He felt his grip tightening on the shelf behind her. 

“I-Inquisitor?” 

As soon as he spoke, Katria’s eyebrows rose, her lips parting slightly with them. 

“Inquisitor?” she repeated incredulously. Her grip on his coat began to loosen until her hands dropped to her side. 

Katria shot a look up at him, but she had turned away before he could read her expression. She walked calmly to his door, opened it, and disappeared. 

Cullen’s hands slid from the shelf, and he reached back to rub his neck as he approached his desk. He collapsed against it and buried his face in his hands. Why was he such an idiot? Why couldn’t actual, intelligible words come to mind when he needed them to? 

He sat back and looked at the ajar door Katria had left through. He wanted so badly to be able to kiss her. He wanted to push her back up against his stupid bookshelf and press their lips together and—

“Ser?”

Cullen straightened and accepted a stack of letters—more like snatched them because he was now in a bad mood. He set them down and rested his palms on either side of them, his eyebrows drawn in anger. Maker, he should have done it. His fingers curled into a fist and he slammed his hand into his desk in a fit of frustration. It had just been so sudden—and in his office? 

Cullen gave a deep sigh. He would be lucky if she came within ten feet of him again. 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, as he stood up. She was leaving for the Fallow Mire at dawn tomorrow—as badly as he wanted to run to her, she needed rest, not some blighted idiot stumbling through an apology. Especially after what little sleep she probably got the night before. Perhaps he could talk to her before she left? Although, she’d likely be with the rest of her party. Or would completely ignore him. 

And what would he even say? Nothing intelligible probably. Cullen slowly sat himself back down in his chair. He looked at the letters he received—they were urgent. He should be drafting responses immediately. He reluctantly pulled out some blank parchment and began writing. Perhaps it was better this way. 

===

_Commander Cullen:_

_The missing Inquisition soldiers have been located and rescued. As reported, they were being held by a group of Avvar tribesmen, one of whom wished to test his mettle against the Herald of Andraste. We effectively eliminated this threat. None of the captive soldiers were killed, although some sustained injuries. They will be accompanying us back to Skyhold._

_In addition, we have recruited an Avvar named Sky Watcher, who wishes to join the Inquisition. I have learned from Sky Watcher that the man we fought was not the tribe’s chief—he was the chief’s son. It is possible this chief, named Movran, will seek vengeance for the death of his child. I have informed Leliana of this situation, and she is looking into his whereabouts. We should be arriving in Skyhold within the week. I will thusly make preparations to travel to Crestwood._

_Regards,_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan_

===

Katria sat on a log, staring intently at the fire in their camp. She should have been in a good mood; they had just reached the outskirts of the shittest, most unpleasant bog she’d ever been to. Not that any bog or marsh was particularly pleasant, but the Fallow Mire, being overrun by corpses, certainly counted as especially disagreeable. Despite being on less soggy ground, her face still retained its tightness, lips pursed, brows drawn together. At times, she’d grit her teeth. 

She had made an utter _fool_ out of herself. Maker, how could she have been stupid enough to convince herself that Cullen would act on feelings that she hadn’t even established he had? What had happened was beyond embarrassing. It was mortifying. He’d even had the nerve to show up the next morning—he lost whatever he was going to say when Katria appeared with her entire party, and she was cold to him. That didn’t matter to her. She had things to do—she was the Inquisitor. There were a million tasks that needed completing that could keep her mind off what happened in his office. Except that had not exactly made her mood any better. 

She heard Blackwall’s voice across from her. “You have something to say, mage?” He was talking to Dorian—his hostile tone was a remnant of the constant bickering they’d done their entire trip. 

Dorian was beside her and frowned. “If I had something to say, I’d say it.” 

“That’s it?” Blackwall said back. “I’d expect more from a man who can’t stop talking about how clever he is.” 

Dorian lifted his chin in a haughty gesture. “And I’d expect no less from a brutish thug.” 

“Better that than a pompous brat,” he snapped. 

“Would you two _knock it off_?” Katria snarled, looking up and glaring at them both. “I am tired of hearing you fight like children.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “The Inquisitor finally snaps. Can we talk about why it’s looked like you’ve had a lemon lodged in your throat this entire trip?” 

“I have not looked like that,” Katria grumbled. 

Sera gave a loud laugh. She danced over to where Katria was sitting and slung her arms around her neck from behind. “You’ve had a grouchy face since the morning we left.” The elf pinched her cheek. “Is this about your Cullen-wullen? Your Cully-wully?” 

Katria batted her hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Dorian tutted. “Come now, my dear, you can talk to us.” He gestured to the darkness around him. “There’s no one else around to hear you express actual feelings.” 

She glared at the fire for a moment, then her posture deflated. “It’s the _lack_ of actual feelings that has…upset me.” 

“In who?” Blackwall began. “Cullen? You think Cullen lacks feelings for you?” 

“Well-,” 

“That man is enamored with you,” he said, snorting.

Sera stood and bent over Katria, her hair hanging down over her head. “Oh, yeah, he wants it. He wants you to _inquisit_ him.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Wants a woman over him. Because, you know, positions.” 

Katria buried her face in her bent knees. “I regret this. He doesn’t want that. He said-,” 

“He _said_ he wasn’t interested?” Dorian cut in. “He actually used those words?” 

She peeked over at him. “Not….exactly.” 

“I assumed as much,” he replied. 

Katria lifted her head back up as Sera plopped down on the ground beside her. “He didn’t have to say anything,” she insisted. “Maker, this is so embarrassing.” 

Blackwall waved his hand. “Oh, come on, just tell us. He’s a fool if he turned you down.”

“Which I doubt is what happened,” Dorian added. 

“Fine,” Katria muttered. She sighed. “I went into his office and I…I mean, I grabbed him-,” she reached out her hands to demonstrate, “and I yanked him towards me, and we were close enough for _something_ to happen, and he called me Inquisitor instead.” 

“So, you didn’t actually tell him, with words, that you cared for him?” Dorian asked. 

Her entire face was crimson. “Well—well, I thought it was sort of _obvious_.”

He dramatically raised his arms. “The Inquisitor, everyone, savior of Thedas, Herald of Andraste, fierce warrior, shrewd diplomat, complete and utter _dolt_.”

Katria rolled her eyes. “Thank you that is so helpful.”

Sera grinned. “Just tell him you want to strip him out of that armor and get to the nasty bits _right there_ in the War Room, and he’ll be falling all over himself, or you, I guess.” 

“I….don’t think I’m going to phrase it like that,” Katria said, nervously pulling at a strand of her hair. She dropped her hands. “What if he turns me down even when I do say something? Plus, I’ve been….rather cold to him since it happened. Maybe I should just apologize instead.” 

Dorian made a disgusted noise. “I refuse to entertain such foolishness. Talk to him upon our return to Skyhold.” He stretched his legs out and reclined backwards. “Do it quickly. I’m hemorrhaging money because Varric and I made a bet about it.”

Katria buried her face in her hands. “I did not need to hear that.” 

Blackwall laughed. “Oh, we get an extra pay-out if Cullen snaps and tackles you in the middle of the practice field in front of all his men.” 

She shook her head. “That would never happen.” 

Dorian smirked. “You have not seen how he looks at you when he thinks no one is around.” 

Katria slapped her palms on her knees and stood. “Alright, well, this has been fun. And mortifying. And terrible. I look forward to never doing it again.” 

She entered her tent, laid down on her bed roll and pulled her blanket all the way over her head, trying not to smile like an idiot. 

===

Cullen only received a single letter from the Inquisitor during the two weeks she was in the Fallow Mire. After he’d read it, he crumpled it in his hands and threw it across the room. He couldn't bear to look at the proof that likely everything between them was ruined. Once she actually returned to Skyhold, she was dragged away by Josephine to further prepare for the Masquerade and entertain their newest noble guests. He did not see her for the rest of the day. He wondered if they would ever have an interaction that wasn’t terribly awkward. He wondered if she hated him now. Obviously, sleep did not come easily that night, so Cullen was awake before dawn, seated at his desk managing supply requisitions. 

He heard his door creak and glanced up. It had only opened a few inches. A few seconds later, it swung open more, and then a little more, until he could see Katria standing in the threshold. 

Cullen abruptly stood. “Inquisitor. I, ah….Is something wrong?” 

She shook her head. “No. I was hoping you had a moment to talk?” She reddened. “But, you seem busy, so maybe I should go.” 

He looked down at his desk. “I’m not—I mean, I am, but I have time for you. Of course.” 

Katria gestured to the opposite door that lead to the battlements, and Cullen followed her out. It was completely light outside now, but still quiet in the courtyard below them. 

Cullen risked a glance at her as they walked. Her hair was damp, and braided, and he could faintly smell the soap she probably used on it—simple, lemon-scented, still nice, not quite like all the fancy oils and exotic scents other noblewomen used. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, until Katria stopped, placing her palm on top of the stone wall beside her. 

“I was worried I would wake you,” she explained. “But I also wanted to come by early enough because I know you’re quite busy.” 

She shifted on her feet and looked around the courtyard, seemingly in an attempt to make eye contact with anything but him. “Listen, Cullen, I just wanted to say that I didn’t…necessarily communicate very well with you the last time we were in your office.” She bit her lip. “I’m normally decent at talking because I do it a lot, and I’m quite witty, I’ve been told by some fairly reliable people…” 

Katria smiled nervously. “This speech was much _shorter_ in my head and had fewer compliments. The point is, I find myself thinking of you, all the time.”

“So do I,” Cullen blurted out. “I think of you, I mean.” 

She finally looked at him. “So what happened? What stopped you that day?” 

He groaned softly, dropping his head. “You’re the Inquisitor. I’m fighting a war for you, I advise you. And…And I thought you would want to be with someone with less complications.” 

They stood in silence for a few moments, the cool morning wind hitting their faces. 

“I care for you, and you’re the person I want to be with,” Katria eventually said. She reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Please.” 

Cullen’s knees almost buckled beneath him. He reached out and put his hand on the battlement beside where her back was pressed against the wall. Please? This woman had said _please_ with a request that would make _him_ the happiest he’d ever been? He knew he was going to kiss her now—there was no denying that, not anymore. Not ever. It was simply a matter of _how_ he was going to do it because every muscle in his body was screaming at him to pin her down and kiss her as passionately as he possibly could to make up for all the times he hadn’t done that. But perhaps it would be better to show some restraint. 

He put his other hand on her waist and leaned forward to close the space between them, when he heard the door near them rattle and then swing open. 

“Commander!” a soldier said. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.” 

Cullen stopped and opened his eyes while the man spoke; he was frozen for a moment in denial—this could _not_ be happening to him, not at this fucking moment—when Katria urged him away and put a hand to her face. He stepped back and turned to the soldier.

“ _What_?” he ground out, jaw clenched. He hoped his tone emphasized how badly he wanted to _wring this idiot’s neck_. 

“Sister Leliana’s report,” he repeated, finally looking up and stopping. “You wanted it delivered ‘without delay’.”

Cullen clenched his fists, glaring with what he hoped was deep malevolence at the messenger. His expression _was_ apparently fairly terrifying because the soldier shrank back, looking at him, then at Katria. 

“O-Or to your office,” he stammered, slowly backing away. “Right.” 

He disappeared, and Cullen made an effort to unclench his fists and take a breath. So much for that being special. And nice. And uninterrupted. Not that it mattered. He was going to do it anyway.

“Cullen,” Katria began quietly behind him. “If you need to-,” 

He spun back around, grabbed her face in his hands and drew their lips together. Too hard, probably, clumsily, but she responded right away, her lips softening against his and her hands clenching the fabric at his waist. 

Cullen wanted to pull away, to apologize for his abruptness, to tell her how nice this was, but the minute his lips left hers, her fingers slipped into the space between his neck and the collar of his breastplate. She yanked him back for a deeper kiss. Of which he was more than happy to oblige as he drew her flush against him, her fingers running along his jaw.

They eventually separated, Katria lifting her hand from his face and sliding it along his pauldron. 

“Sorry,” she said, a little breathless. “I thought we had done enough talking.” 

He felt the corner of his mouth lift up—he did not think it was possible for him to be happier than he was. “I think you’re right.” 

Cullen tightened his grip on her waist and ran his palm along her back. He moved to kiss her again, and she did, lightly, on the edge of his lip. He felt her breath on his face as she whispered to him. “You _do_ realize that no less than four of your guards has passed us up here.” 

Katria seemed to be entertained by the deep scarlet color that rose all the way up to his ears. She ran her hands down the front of his arms and slipped from his grasp. 

“You should probably return to your work, Commander,” she said, grinning. 

Katria put her palms on his cheeks and kissed him firmly again before pulling away a few seconds later—it was glorious. 

“I-I will return to work,” he said, clearing his throat. He hesitated. “Katria, I…I’m sorry if what happened before hurt you. You are incredibly important to me.” 

She smiled slightly. “It’s alright, Cullen.” She stepped back from him and lowered her hands. “I _think_ we’ve figured it out now.” 

Katria traced her fingers down the lower part of his arm, that contact and her expression made his breath hitch. “However, I’m not _entirely_ sure about that, so you must come by later, alone, and continue to…work out logistics with me.” 

Cullen reddened further, if that were possible—he obviously knew that Katria was charming, but now it was directed at him, and he could act on it, and Maker, he wished he had nothing to do for the rest of the day, so he could be with her. 

She rapped her knuckle twice against his breast plate and walked up the stairs beside them. “Bye, Cullen.” 

Cullen returned to his office and sat in his chair, forehead rested against the edge of his desk so anyone that came in couldn’t see the giant smile on his face. He worked for about an hour, every second getting distracted by the memory of her lips against his, before the door opened and Varric appeared. The dwarf smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and thanked Cullen for winning him four silver pieces from Dorian. He groaned and reddened because, sadly, he did not have to ask what their bet had been about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess when I tagged slow build, I _really_ meant it, but it finally arrived! (Yay?)
> 
> Side note: the heated words between Blackwall and Dorian are in-game dialogue, apparently they can get pretty snarky with each other!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Katria did not see Cullen again the day that they kissed on the battlements. Well, she _saw_ him, in the War Room, across the table from her, but their discussion was strictly professional. Other than Leliana remarking upon on how _eagerly_ Cullen was awaiting her presence—a comment that made him stammer and then blush up to his ears. In that meeting, they decided Katria would leave for Crestwood in two days. Josephine guilted Katria into agreeing to stay put in Skyhold after that in order to prepare adequately for the Masquerade—their Ambassador wielded her words like a weapon. Although, Katria did find herself craving the solitude of the outdoors less; she now very much looked forward to spending time in Skyhold. 

Katria was absorbed in her work for the rest of the day, and she assumed the same happened to Cullen because he did not stop by her room. She rose at dawn to try and catch him in his office with perhaps fewer prying eyes around, but when she approached his door, she heard a messenger speaking to him. She slipped inside as Cullen was rolling his eyes in frustration.

“Oh for Andraste’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Enough with this ‘interlude’ business, it’s a _tea party_. Which I simply do not have time for.”

The messenger beside him seemed a little intimidated. “I will…let the Lady Ambassador know at once, Commander.” 

The young man exited with a salute, and Katria raised an eyebrow when Cullen finally looked at her. 

“I can come back later, if you’re busy.” 

He stepped forward. “No, please stay.”

Katria walked over to his desk and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest. Cullen stood beside her, lifting his hand towards her shoulder, before he stopped and rubbed his neck instead. He sat in his chair, and she swiveled to face him. 

“I was disappointed I didn’t see you again yesterday,” she said. “Although I did certainly _talk_ about you enough.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “About me?” 

Katria snorted. “Yes—With Dorian, Varric, Bull, Sera…the list is never-ending. Apparently you having your tongue down my throat on the battlements did not go unnoticed.” 

“I remember you starting that,” he grumbled. 

“Does it bother you?” Katria asked. 

Cullen sighed. “I would rather my—our—private affairs remain that way.” He shrugged. “But if there were nothing for people to talk about I would regret it more.”

“I agree,” she said, resting her foot beside his thigh in his chair. “If we are more careful, perhaps I will get less disapproving glares.” 

“From who?” he asked, frowning. 

Katria waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, types like Vivienne. She says I should be using my title and noble birth to align myself with more powerful political figures.” 

His eyes fell to her cloak, and she felt a pang of guilt shoot through her. 

“Oh, Cullen, stop,” she said, sliding off the desk. “You know how I feel about nobles and their foolishly refined etiquette.” 

“I know, I know,” he said, nodding reluctantly. “I just have no title outside the Inquisition, and I wondered if it…bothered you.” 

Katria laughed. She cupped his face in her hands, raking her fingers through the prickly stubble on his jaw. “It doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I prefer it.” 

Cullen sighed and looked guiltily at her. “I’m not very good at this, am I?” he said. “If I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn’t expecting to find that here.” 

She dropped her hands and smirked. “And find it in a woman whom you once called—what was it, a glib, uncaring menace?”

Cullen bolted up. “I swear, I didn’t—I didn’t mean those things at all. Katria, I…” He reached for her face, then stopped again. 

She put her hand on his breastplate. “I know, it’s alright. We moved past that. Dead fox and all that.” 

The door behind her opened, and Katria dropped her hand, moving to the side so Cullen could grumpily snatch a note from a messenger’s grasp. The paper was thick and lightly scented. 

“That’s from Josie,” she said. “Let me read it.” 

Cullen handed it to her. Katria grinned as she unfolded it.

“Cullen,” she began. “The _interlude_ is for us to connect as colleagues and friends, lest we lost sight of shared values in the fog of petty differences. I am deeply disappointed with your decision.” 

He groaned and buried his face in his hand. “This is ridiculous.” 

Katria folded the note back up. “I can’t believe you don’t want to go to this tea party, Commander.” 

Cullen looked back up at her. “I can think of better uses for the little free time I have.” 

She sat back against his desk. “What other uses are you thinking of?” she asked. Her foot shot out and hooked around one of his knees, making him stumble forward into her. 

He blushed. “Katria…” 

“I wasn’t going to do anything inappropriate,” she insisted, grinning as she bit her lip. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes, but you will make _me_ do something inappropriate.”

Katria stood. There was virtually no space between them. “Well, I should go then. I would hate to tempt our stalwart commander in such ways. Cass wants to meet with me in the War Room anyway—something about finding the Lord Seeker, I think.” 

Cullen nodded and stepped away from her. “Keep her there a while. When she comes to watch the morning drills, she always has a million different _suggestions_ afterwards.” 

“I’ll try,” she said, smiling. 

Katria could see him looking at her lips, wanting them, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Maker, would you just kiss me already?” 

Cullen leaned forward and briefly pressed his lips against hers before turning back to his desk with a bashful expression and a blush spreading up from his neck. He cleared his throat. 

“I will see you later, Inquisitor.” 

Katria left his office and tried not to have a stupid grin on her face—it’s not like people in Skyhold didn’t already have enough to gossip about. She found herself unable to hold back from having such an expression, though. She had hoped she was not being too forward with him. Katria was afraid if she pushed too hard, he’d freeze up and cut ties, trying to just be the Commander and the Inquisitor again. That would not be acceptable to her. Not at all. 

===

It was almost completely dark as Katria made her way across Skyhold’s courtyard to the stables. It was quiet, except for the sound of armored footsteps that rang out occasionally above her on the battlements. Her party would not be leaving Skyhold until sunrise. She knew most of them were gathered in the Great Hall for a quiet breakfast. The stable hands probably weren’t even awake yet to prepare her horse—she didn’t mind, sometimes she liked to walk out early to have some time alone before traveling in close quarters in the ensuing weeks. 

Her feet crunched the wet grass under her feet, and she watched it sway as a gust of wind blew through the courtyard. She brought her gray cloak closer to her chest. She stopped at the torch burning at the front of the stables when she heard footsteps behind her. 

“Inquisitor?” a voice whispered. 

Katria turned, recognizing the voice immediately. “Why are you whispering?” she asked Cullen. 

He straightened and cleared his throat as he approached her. “I…don’t know.” 

She smirked. “Don’t worry. There’s no one around to eavesdrop on the Inquisitor and her Commander locked in a passionate embrace.” 

“W-Was that your plan?” he asked, his red cheeks only slightly visible in the torch light. 

“I’ll let you go first,” she said, leaning against the wall beside the torch. “Did you need something?” 

“I saw you walking from the Great Hall,” he explained. “I wanted to come see you off.” 

“I wish you would get more sleep,” she said. “It’s early for you to be awake.” 

Cullen stood in front of her and rubbed his neck. “I, ah, wanted to make sure I got to see you before you left. Without…anyone else around.” 

Katria made a point dramatically searching the darkness surrounding them, which made Cullen roll his eyes. “I think you’re in luck, Commander. We’re alone.” 

He stepped closer, tilting her chin up with his finger and kissing her. 

Katria made a satisfied humming noise in the back of her throat. She eventually pushed his hand down, so he could press their bodies together against the wall. He buried his gloved fingers into her hair and titled his head to deepen their kiss, his tongue sliding along her lower lip until her mouth opened. 

She suddenly found herself not wanting to leave for a rainy town in Ferelden overrun with undead. Katria wanted to stay here, in this exact spot, with Cullen, even though his metal bracer was cold as it pressed into her jaw, and even though the rest of his body was frustratingly cocooned in armor that she assumed covered a warrior’s muscular frame. 

Katria pulled part of his lower lip between hers for a brief moment just as they broke apart. He groaned breathily, quietly—not _that_ quietly because he withdrew more and turned red. 

“Maker’s breath,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have….” 

She grinned. “Oh, no, Blackwall and I both really enjoyed hearing that.” 

His eyebrows shot up. “B-Blackwall?” 

She pointed up above them. “He lives in the stables.” She giggled at the look of utter embarrassment on his face, putting her hand on his cheek. “I’m teasing you, Cullen. He’s not up there right now.” 

“Right.” He laughed nervously. “Of course.” 

He then pulled her close, and Katria buried her face in the crook of his neck. She wondered if Cullen thought she was too tall—her chin rested on his shoulder even when she was standing flat on her feet. 

“I should let you go eat, meet up with your party,” he whispered. His arms squeezed her one final time before he stepped back. 

“Try not to get yourself mortally injured out there, alright?” Cullen said. 

“And what?” she asked. “Lose the _only_ fun part of my job? No thank you.” 

He sighed impatiently, and she laughed, drumming her fingers on his armor and slipping past him. It wasn’t easy to leave—this would be their nice moment before she killed that dragon in Crestwood, which she imagined would make Cullen a little grumpier than he was currently. Probably because she hadn’t quite mentioned her plans to him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about Josephine's interlude/tea-party is a pretty funny exchange you can overhear in-game. Seemed appropriate to include it.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

_Cullen,_

_I apologize for the delay in my correspondence. The moment we arrived in Crestwood there was a precipitous increase in work. By work, I mean corpses. They were coming from a rift that was open in the tunnels beneath the lake near the town. In order to access it, we had to open a dam—the controls of said dam were obviously located in a fort occupied by bandits. We cleaned them out, accessed the tunnels, and closed the rift. It was a very long night. We have returned to Caer Bronach, and I think it will be a suitable base for Inquisition operations in this area._

_The town is most thankful for our help, but the mayor has disappeared. He left a confession in which he admitted to purposely flooding the tunnels during the Blight—tunnels filled with refugees, some of whom were infected. Unpleasant business. We are going to have this mayor tracked down—I have already sent some of Leliana’s agents to find him._

_We will be leaving to meet with the Warden next. I pray his information is useful and that this situation is not too dire—I doubt we will be that lucky though._

_I…miss you? Wait, that’s not a question I do miss you, I was just not sure if that was the way I wanted to express that sentiment. I think of you often. Do not forget to update me on how you are doing._

_Katria_

===

_Katria,_

_I was pleased to hear that you successfully captured Caer Bronach. It is a large and defensible fort and there are valuable resources in the area we can begin to harvest. Leliana has also expressed an interest in using the keep as a way-point for her agents because of its location between Denerim and Val Royeaux._

_Crestwood’s mayor has been located. He was attempting to flee to the Free Marches. He is being escorted back Skyhold and awaits your judgment. I agree that it is an unpleasant manner._

_A most peculiar thing happened today. Your hunch about the Avvar chief, Movran, seeking vengeance against you was correct. Do not worry; he did not attack or attempt to infiltrate Skyhold. He…threw a goat at the battlements. I do not understand why, but he poses little threat and is waiting in the dungeons for you._

_Josephine talks endlessly about the massive amount of preparation still needed for the Masquerade. I do not understand all the fuss—it’s still two months away, but I thought I should warn you, so you are ready for her fretting once you return._

_I had a small headache today, nothing more._

_Cullen_

===

_Cullen,_

_Met with Warden Stroud. All I can say about that is: well shit._

_I will explain further. Stroud was able to give us the reason behind the Wardens’ disappearance—every single one of them has begun to hear the Calling. Stroud thinks that Corypheus caused this somehow, and is using the Wardens’ subsequent fear to manipulate them. Warden-Commander Clarel wants to use blood magic to prevent further Blights from happening since she thinks all the Wardens of Orlais are dying. Stroud protested to that madness, and that’s why he was hiding in a creepy, damp cave when we found him._

_Stroud knows where the Wardens are gathering for this ritual: the Western fucking Approach. Maker, I’d swore I would never go back there, and yet here we are._

_I will not dwell on that. It makes me very grumpy._

_The only good news is we should be leaving for Skyhold soon. Probably within the next few days. There are rumors of a Venatori mining operation in the area, and we are going to go kill a wyvern. Never done that before. Should be fun. We also have a few odds and ends to tie up._

_I can’t wait to return to you._

_Katria_

_PS: I look forward to hearing why someone would throw a goat at Skyhold._

===

_Katria,_

_The situation with the Wardens is alarming to say the least. Leliana immediately dispatched agents to the Western Approach when we heard of your encounter. If Warden-Commander Clarel is involved in blood magic rituals, perhaps this all has some connection to the demon army you heard of in the future Redcliffe? I know that we need Wardens to stop the Blight, and I owe one particular Warden my life, but if this is true, and they are resorting to such methods…well, it’s unthinkable._

_A few odds and ends to tie up before you left, you said? How exactly is fighting a dragon one of those things? Were you deliberately not telling me about your plans to kill this Northern Hunter because you thought I’d be upset? Did you really think I wouldn’t hear about it right away? Katria, you cannot keep that kind of information from me—I’m saying that as the commander of your army, as your advisor. You might have killed it, but there are things on my end that need to be done if we want to use the valuable resources on the dragon instead of just killing it for foolish entertainment._

_I am uncomfortable with the notion that you simply avoid confrontation by lying to me._

_Cullen_

===

_Cullen,_

_I did not kill the dragon for foolish entertainment. Iron Bull is the only one of us who actually enjoyed what we were doing, and he enjoyed it a little too much. I made my decision because the dragon posed a danger to the town, and it had already taken lives. If I would have left Crestwood, and let the Northern Hunter cause further loss of life, I would not forgive myself. _

_But…you’re right, I should have told you beforehand what my plan was. My reasons for omitting that information were stupid, cowardly and childish. Ever since reading your letter I’ve felt utterly horrible. I promise I won’t let this happen again._

_In the name of honesty, I should tell you I was…injured in the fight. I am fine. There will be no lasting effects on my health, I swear._

_Katria_

=== 

_Katria,_

_It was not my intention to make you feel horrible. I was too harsh, I know. When you are away, I am…more uneasy. It may not matter to you, but I pray to the Maker for your safety every night. Fighting that dragon put you in danger, and when I heard what happened, I immediately wrote you a letter, when I should have let myself calm down._

_I look forward to seeing you when you return to Skyhold._

_Cullen_

===

Cullen was waiting with Leliana and Josephine when the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold. He, for once, did not have to hold back a smile because he was focused on examining the extent of the injury she said she’d gotten. She walked towards him, leading her party to the upper level of the courtyard. She was not limping, and he could not see any visible bandages, but most of her body was also covered by her cloak. 

Before Cullen could speak, Josephine bowed slightly and smiled. “Welcome back, Inquisitor. We have a great many things to do today. Your dress uniform has arrived and needs to be fitted. I have many issues to discuss as well. I hope you have been studying the material I sent you.” 

Katria gave a small grimace, but nodded. “Yes, Josephine. I want to meet in two hours in the War Room to discuss this Crestwood situation, but after that, I’m yours.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” 

She gave Cullen a smile and then made her way to the steps beside them. She stopped a messenger, and he could just make out her words. 

“Could you please tell Marianne I need her in my quarters? She will know what to bring. Quickly, if you would.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow and watched her as she walked up the stairs. She seemed a little stiff, slower, her torso hardly moving as she made her way into the Great Hall. He returned to his office, mulling around with reports for about 45 minutes, until he couldn’t wait any longer. He was worried—what if her injury was worse than she claimed? He also felt he owed her an apology about brashly sending off that letter about the dragon. It was unlikely they would have a moment together after today if Josephine was already in a frenzy about going to Halamshiral. 

Still, he was hesitant to approach the door to her quarters. He knocked three times, but no reply came, until a voice that wasn’t Katria’s called down to him. 

“Oh, come in!” 

Cullen climbed the stairs and saw Katria sitting on a stool in the middle of her room. Her back was to him, and she was not wearing her tunic. The white cloth of her breast band was partially obscured by the hair hanging down her back. Marianne was standing in front of Katria, tending to her shoulder by rubbing some sort of poultice into it. 

Marianne looked up at him. “Hello, Commander Cullen. The Inquisitor has something she’d like to show you.” 

“Don’t say it like _that_ ,” Katria muttered, as she reluctantly turned around on the stool. 

Normally, Cullen would have been distracted by the swell of her breasts under her smallclothes, but instead his eye was drawn to the huge swath of black and blue skin across one side of her chest. There was a deep gash that started at her shoulder and dragged across to her clavicle. 

“Maker’s breath, Katria!” he exclaimed, rushing forward. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Really, I’m fine!” 

Cullen stopped in front of her. It was worse closer up, but already looked in the process of healing. “That dragon could have taken your arm off!” 

She raised her hand to placate him “But it _didn’t_.”

“What happened?” he asked exasperatedly. 

Katria furrowed her brow as Marianne began wrapping her shoulder in clean white bandages. “A dragon happened? Its claw. Slammed me down just as it was dying.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. 

“I did!” she protested. “I said I was injured in my letter.” 

“You could have been a little more specific,” he grumbled. “I thought maybe you’d gotten a small burn or sprained something. Not some massive gash! You probably lost a lot of blood.” 

“Not as much as she could have,” Marianne said, as she stepped back to examine her work. “She is very lucky.” The healer grabbed Katria’s tunic, helping her thread her arms through it. Katria’s face contorted with pain as soon as she moved. 

Marianne continued talking as she packed up her bag. “The Inquisitor will need to take it easy in the coming weeks. I would even suggest staying in bed for a few days.” 

Katria snorted. “That’s not going to happen.” 

“I assumed as much,” Marianne replied. She slung her pack over her shoulder. “I’ve told you what you need to do. I’ve got more cooperative patients to take care of, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Cullen nodded to the healer as she left. Once he heard her footsteps on the stairs, he put his hand on Katria’s face and leaned forward to kiss her. He felt her hand on his breastplate pushing him away. 

She sighed. “No point.” 

“What?” 

Katria gestured behind him, and he heard the door swing back open. Cullen stepped away when Bailey appeared at the top of the stairs. The little girl rushed past him and threw her arms around Katria’s waist, which made her wince. 

Katria stroked the top of her blonde head and gave Cullen an apologetic look. 

“I heard you fought a dragon!” Bailey exclaimed. 

Cullen grunted and walked over to sit down in front of the chess set near her fireplace. Katria was perched on the edge of her bed. Bailey clamored after her, then reached back down to hoist her white fox up. It was much larger now, its ears still too big for its body, but with a bit of a belly because Bailey carried around treats in her pockets she was constantly dropping for it. 

Bailey began braiding her hair. “Tell me everything.” 

Cullen leaned back against the armchair. “Yes, Inquisitor, please do tell us.” 

Katria glared at him, but then started in on an obviously fabricated story of how they felled the Northern Hunter. She could only use one of her arms to gesture, but Bailey was still captivated. Cullen was too, a little. He didn’t spend much time in Skyhold’s tavern, but had heard about how well Varric and Katria spun tales about their adventures when they were there. She was warm and animated and Cullen could not believe this woman grated his nerves once with her laid-back demeanor. 

Katria was rubbing the fox’s belly as it laid on its back. “Did I tell you what color the dragon was?” she asked. 

Bailey leaned forward. “No, why? What did it look like?” 

“It was purple and yellow.” 

“Purple?” The little girl bounced on the end of the bed, sending her fox flailing into the air. “It was _purple_?” 

Katria nodded and pushed herself up. Cullen did not miss the groan that escaped her lips—any sort of movement probably hurt her shoulder at this point. She walked over to her bag and rummaged through it. 

“I got something for you,” she said. Katria turned and held out an object to her. 

The little girl _literally_ screamed, and Cullen covered his ears, cursing under his breath. Now he knew why he spent so little time around children. Her fox got the same idea, its ears perking up before it darted underneath the pile of pillows on Katria’s bed.

“Cullen, look!” 

Bailey had run over to him, her hand shaking his knee with great urgency until he looked at the purple dragon scale clutched in her fingers. It was big, bigger than her hand even, and sharp. And also _incredibly_ valuable. Katria had sent most of the scales and other materials they salvaged from the Northern Hunter to a blacksmith named Wade in Denerim. 

Cullen was finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at Katria after all this. When they were alone, he had planned to apologize, but also remind her that she needed to be less reckless and more forthright about Inquisition business with him because he was still her commander. Now he just wanted to kiss her. 

Katria walked over and sat across from Cullen, resting her foot on the chessboard. 

“Your mother said you had chores to do,” she said to Bailey. 

The girl grumbled under her breath and shoved her gift into her pocket. Cullen was going to remind her to get her fox, but the minute she headed for the stairs, it poked its head out of the pillows and scurried after her. 

“She’s turned that thing into a dog,” Katria said, nudging a chess piece with her foot. She moved her hand to her temple, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. 

“Are you tired?” Cullen asked. “Maybe you should rest today and-,” 

Katria lowered her hand. “You saw Josephine. She’s beside herself with this Halamshiral stuff. I’ll let her fuss for a few days, and I should be able to slow down after that.” 

“No sparring with anyone,” he said firmly. 

She sunk further into her chair. “Yes, I know. Marianne threatened bodily harm against me if I didn’t desist from practicing.” She folded her hands over her lap. “So obviously I’ll just have to do it in secret.” 

Cullen glared at her. “You are insufferable. And also….” He cleared his throat. “Also important to me. So, I apologize for the tone of my letter.” 

“It’s alright,” she said. 

“It’s _always_ alright,” he grumbled. 

Katria stood and walked over to him. Her finger ran along the scar on his lip as he looked up at her. “I’ll admit, I was little upset when I received your letter, even after you’d apologized. But I find it incredibly difficult to stay angry at such a handsome face that I missed so much.”

Her comment made him blush. Cullen pushed himself to his feet and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“Tell me honestly. Are you in a lot of pain?”

She exhaled. “I’ll…be fine. But, yes, if you must know, it’s incredibly uncomfortable.” 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing her gently. He hesitated at first—being with her, it was all very new to him. He had trouble guessing her motives, her emotions, never knowing if she was okay with what he was doing. None of his actions had angered her yet, despite his fumbling, although it was hard to get Katria truly angry. He worried, still, that he'd do something wrong, and all the good things they had would slip right through his fingers.

He pulled away, too soon for his liking. “I have some reports I have to gather up for our meeting.” 

She kissed his cheek. “I will be _eagerly_ awaiting your presence, Commander.” 

===


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fasten your seatbelts, canon divergence at the Winter Palace incoming
> 
> Thank ya'll, as always, for reading!

Katria heard a knock at the door and ignored it. After two beats of silence, she heard a voice. 

“Inquisitor?” 

Another series of more urgent knocks. 

She dragged herself up from her chair. 

“Katria, it’s-,” 

Katria swung open the door and gave a tight smile. “Yes, Josephine?” 

The Ambassador hurried past her into the bedroom she'd been assigned. “Just a few more things while the carriage is being pulled around, Inquisitor.” 

She tried to keep her expression stoic—something she’d been practicing since she stepped foot in Skyhold after returning from Crestwood. She did not understand why they were taking some ostentatious carriage to the Winter Palace when they could just as easily take horses.

Katria adjusted the bottom of her dress uniform. It fit perfectly, mostly because Josephine had made her go through three rounds of alterations. She even had some daggers concealed on her person, which provided her with some comfort.

“I’m sure you know how to handle most nobility, but the Game is nothing like the Free Marches’ intrigues,” Josephine said. 

“There was nothing intriguing about Marcher politics, I assure you,” Katria muttered. 

“The Game is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol,” Josephine explained. “Every word, every gesture, is measured and evaluated for weakness.” 

“Yes, Josie,” Katria said wearily. “I know.” She gestured to her face. “Look at this stoicism. No one will be able to read me. No one will guess that I’d rather be alone in a cave full of bears than at this party.” 

Josephine reached out and adjusted the blue ribbon on Katria’s uniform, soothing it down on her shoulder. “The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you.” She smiled weakly. “You were safer staring down Corypheus.” 

Katria shrugged and looked around. “At least the scenery is nicer here.” They were staying outside of the city, and had been for two days, at the estate of one of Josephine’s family friends. 

Josephine motioned her forward, and they walked from Katria’s room out into the hallway, where the last rays of sunlight were being cast through the windows beside them.

Katria glanced over at her Ambassador as they walked. She was clearly trying to regulate her breathing. Katria put her hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, Josie, don’t worry. Not because I’m particularly good or tolerant of the Game, but because I could ask for no finer guidance when it comes to Orlesian politics. You are a treasure.” 

Josephine looked over and smiled slightly, seeming placated. “You are too kind, Inquisitor.” 

A door swung open right in front of them, and Cullen appeared, looking down at his dress uniform. 

“I need to have this jacket let out a little,” he muttered, then looked up. “Oh, uh, greetings Inquisitor.” 

“Cullen?” Katria said dumbly. It was…odd not seeing him in his armor. Delightful, because of course he had an excellent build, but still odd. 

Josephine squeezed her arm. “I will check on the carriage. Meet me soon.” The Ambassador hurried off, and Cullen began shifting awkwardly before her. 

Katria shook her head, realizing her staring was causing his discomfort. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to…leer, I just haven’t seen you outside of that metal cocoon you wear.” She reached forward, then stopped. “Would it be alright if I touched you?” 

Cullen blushed. “Yes, I mean, of course. You can…whenever you’d like.” 

Katria grinned and slid her hands along his broad shoulders, down his arms, across his chest—she realized she had bit her lip and was now breathing through her nose. She wanted to drag him back to her room and get to know the uniform, or what was underneath it, even better. Her face reddened. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m getting myself worked up, and I’ve got an assassination to stop.” Katria grabbed his arm and began leading him down the hall. “You look very handsome. I didn’t think the rest of you could be as good-looking as your face, but here we are, look how wrong I am.” 

Cullen extricated himself from her grasp and ran his palm along her shoulder blades. “How are you? Shoulder alright?” 

She instinctively moved her hand to her wound. It had been weeks since she got it, but there was still some tightness. “I'm fine. I am dreading this. I really am. I just want to stop anyone from getting hurt. I don’t think I’m equipped for the rest of it.” 

“You are,” he assured her. “You’re smart, and if you stay in control, the Inquisition will emerge victorious.” 

“My plan was to emerge in one piece with a belly fully of tiny cakes,” Katria said. 

Cullen stopped before the giant wooden doors that led to where the carriage was waiting outside. He leaned forward and lightly kissed her temple. It made her want to swoon, which in turn made her want to hit herself in the face for such sentimentality. Yes, Cullen might look like a prince, but _she_ was no princess. For Andraste’s sake, just last week she had a burping contest with Bull after a few too many drinks. And she’d won.

They walked outside into the brisk evening air, and Cullen helped her into the carriage. Before he got in beside her, he gave some orders to the Inquisition soldiers waiting nearby. Cullen eventually sat next to her, and she scooted closer so that their thighs were just barely touching. She tried to allow that contact to give her some comfort. 

“It’s going to take some time to get our men into the palace,” Cullen said to her. “But I will alert you when we are ready.” 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Josephine and Leliana were across from them. As the carriage jolted and then began rolling forward, Josephine put her palms on her knees and took a deep breath. “We will be fine.” 

“Yes, we will,” Katria assured her. Her gaze turned to Leliana. “Have your agents picked up any more information about the assassination?” 

“The best place to strike at Celene is from her side,” Leliana said. She looked different without her hood on. Her red hair was more visible, and she seemed softer. “The Empress has an ‘occult advisor’—an apostate who charmed her and key members of the court, as if by magic.” 

Leliana’s brow creased. “I’ve had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.” 

“Mind control is a powerful form of magic,” Katria said. “Blood magic, too. Because that just seems to be so _branchée_ nowadays.” She looked over at Josephine. “Did you see me slip some Orlesian into that sentence? You have nothing to worry about!” 

“The apostate is worth investigating,” Leliana said. “Can’t be sure of anything here. I’ll continue to coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better.”

Katria leaned back against her seat and looked out the window of the carriage. The scenery leading into Val Royeaux was exquisite and well-manicured, despite the still freezing temperatures around. It was almost completely dark outside. 

“One final reminder, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “About our agreement?” 

Katria groaned. “Yes, yes, I know. Only two flutes of champagne and four tiny cakes.” She slapped her hand on her knee and looked at Cullen. “Four! She’s only letting me have four tiny cakes!” 

“It is seen as unladylike to over-indulge in dessert,” Josephine said. “I’m only setting a limit because I’ve seen you eat about twenty of them in one sitting.” 

“And when we get back to Skyhold that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Katria muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping against her seat. 

Josephine only had to clear her throat for Katria to drop her arms and sit up straight again. She tried to think about all the things that would be manageable about the evening. The dancing. Katria was an Orlesian-trained duelist, so she was an excellent dancer. Walking. She could walk gracefully, shoulders back, when the occasion called for it. 

She then groaned internally because that was all she was proficient at on this diplomatic battlefield: walking, dancing, hiding her emotions. She put her hand across her temple and sighed. 

This was going to be a long evening. 

===

Cullen was right. He was absolutely, positively _right_. He had told Josephine months ago that his public presence at the Winter Palace was not necessary—in fact, it was probably a bad idea. He wanted to be coordinating outside of the ballroom, with the rest of his troops, wearing his armor, and protecting Katria. 

Instead, he was slowly losing his grip on his patience, standing around a bunch of stupidly-dressed nobles who wouldn’t stop talking to him. He was quite certain that if one more person asked him to dance, asked him if he was married, or grabbed his bottom, he would scream. 

Cullen tried to take another calming breath, drumming his fingers against the wall he was pressed against. His patience was likely wearing especially thin in this moment because Katria was off dancing with Lord Mantillon—who was, frustratingly, just as handsome as Leliana and Josephine said he was. They were excellent dancers together. It surprised him how much Katria had danced so far, although it seemed to please Josephine. Cullen suspected that she was doing it so much to avoid conversations with other people. 

The music drifting through the ballroom ended, and Katria and Mantillon separated. They climbed the steps beside them and paused. Mantillon put his hand on her lower back and leaned close to her ear. As he spoke, Katria’s placid mask broke, and he knew by the look on her face she was impulsively saying _something_.

“Excuse me,” Cullen said abruptly, with a slight bow. He slipped through the group of people around him, walking towards the Inquisitor, who had separated herself from Mantillon and was standing with Josephine. 

“I have excellent news,” Josephine said in a quiet voice. “Lord Cyril de Montford’s wife has asked to have a private meeting with us. I have no idea what her motives are, but perhaps she will be interested in lending support to our cause.” 

Katria smiled wanly. “Great. But we….might have another problem.” 

Josephine’s excited expression faded. “What happened?” 

“I might have…” She shifted awkwardly on her feet. “Upset him a little?” She leaned closer to Josephine to whisper to her. “Mantillon is a smug little shit, okay? He told me if I ever wanted any status in the Court I would have to work for _him_. And he said it in a really sleazy way, so…I sort of snapped at him. A little.” 

To her credit, Josephine kept her face stoic. “Let us go meet with Lady Montford. We can arrive a little early and discuss other issues.”

“I want to come,” Cullen said. Because the idea of returning to his small alcove terrified him. 

Josephine nodded, and they made their way into the vestibule. They turned right to a well-decorated hallway, then stepped into a room nearby. Inside, was a large, ornate table and several oil paintings. 

Katria slumped down at the head of the table. She reached out and grabbed a tray that had a tumbler set and a bottle of wine on it. Her eyes scanned the bottle. 

“Odd. This is Free Marches wine,” she said, as she yanked the cork off. “I would think this would be too _quaint_ for Orlesians.”

Josephine still kept her voice down. “If you’ve offended Mantillon, he will go straight to the Dowager.” She put her hand on her hip and sighed. “I knew this was going to happen. He is impossible to deal with.” 

Katria buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Josie. Maker, I knew I would be bad at this.” 

“It’s alright, Inquisitor,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s capricious, and we can combat his influence.”

“How?” she asked. 

“Lady Vivienne has direct ties to the Council of Heralds through Duke Ghislain. Perhaps we can ask her-,” 

Katria grimaced. “There must be another way. I don’t want to owe Vivienne any favors. She, out of everyone I’ve recruited, is in it for the political power. I’m certain she’d gut me if she thought it would be advantageous.” 

“You’re right,” Josephine said. “But we might not have a choice.” 

“Well, what about this Lady Montford?” Katria began, waving her hand. “Could she help us?” 

She pursed her lips. “I am not sure yet. I don’t understand her motivation for asking after us. Well, she wanted to speak to you specifically, of course. Her husband, Cyril de Montford, is the newest member of the Council of Heralds. Even if she has nefarious motives, we simply couldn’t turn her down without causing a stir.”

“I can’t _move_ without causing a stir,” she muttered. 

The door in front of them rattled, and Katria rolled her shoulders back, transforming into the wildly unhappy diplomatic Inquisitor as a figure appeared. 

A young masked woman floated into the room, the door shutting behind her. Josephine and Cullen both stood from their chairs to do proper Orlesian introductions. 

“Lady Montford,” Josephine began. “It is a great pleasure-,” She stopped and looked at Katria, panic flashing in her eyes. 

Katria was still sitting, which even Cullen knew was impolite. Her fingers were clutched so tightly around her glass her knuckles were white. Her brows were set low over her eyes, jaw clenched. Without warning, she jumped up and hurled her glass against the wall, where it shattered into tiny, glistening pieces. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Cullen thought about reaching for the knife hidden in his boot—he was thoroughly confused, and it was best to be armed at those times, and he had never seen Katria so livid before. 

“Why are you here?” Katria growled, glaring with great malevolence at this Lady Montford. “How _dare_ you…”

The woman did not seemed alarmed at Katria’s erratic behavior. She instead reached up and removed her mask, placing it gently on the table in front of her. 

“My, my, _Inquisitor_ , it is so unlike you to lose your temper like this.” 

She sat herself down very gracefully in the chair in front of her, folding her fingers together in her lap. 

“Do you have any idea what I had to go through because of you?” Katria snapped, shoulders heaving from her large, angered breaths. “You…” 

“And yet look where you are now,” she said. “Beloved leader of this fledgling cause. You have certainly moved up in the world.” 

Cullen studied Lady Montford more closely. She was quite beautiful. Then, he noticed something disquieting. 

“Is this your sister?” he asked Katria. He couldn't believe he even remembered she had one--all those months ago, in Haven, when she'd explained that her younger sister had stolen her inheritance and left for Orlais, he had hardly felt sorry for her. 

Katria turned her gaze to him, pressing her lips tightly together. She collapsed back in her chair, but her face was answer enough. 

They did not look _that_ much alike. Lady Montford was a consummate young noble. She had skin that was pale and smooth like porcelain, a delicate bone structure, a long, aristocratic neck. Her eyes were brown, almost honey colored. It was her dark hair and prominent nose that drew the comparison between them.

“That’s impossible,” Josephine said, brow furrowed. “Leliana and I searched for your sister and came up with no lead about her whereabouts.” 

“You give me too little credit, Lady Montilyet,” she said. “I did not get where I am by leaving a trail for others to find.” 

Katria’s enraged expression had faded to mere bitterness. “No one knows you’re Kate Trevelyan?” 

“No,” she replied. “I am Lady Katerina de Montford, and before that, I was Katerina Chaput, from a minor noble Orlesian house with only two very gullible, and now very dead, remaining heirs.” 

“How exactly did you convince a member of the Council of Heralds to marry you?” Katria asked. “Also, your name is pretentious as fuck.” 

Lady Montford grinned—Cullen could further see their resemblance now. “Still crass as ever, I see. When I married Cyril five years ago, his father, Duke Prosper de Montfort was still alive, and thus still on the Council. It took some persuasion and most of my remaining inheritance, but the Duke agreed to let us marry.” Her eyebrow rose slightly. “Cyril deeply loved me, you see.”

“I’m sure he did,” Katria spat. “And then immediately regretted it.” 

Josephine cleared her throat and gave a polite smile. “Is there a particular reason you asked for this meeting, Lady Montford?” 

Lady Montford appraised her sister with a condescending look. “I wanted to see for myself if the rumors about this Inquisitor Trevelyan were true—if there were people foolish enough in Thedas to put my crass, ill-mannered sister in charge of something.”

“I’m good at my job,” Katria said defensively. 

Lady Montford gave a delicate laugh. “Oh, is that why Lord Mantillon was just bemoaning to his mother about how rude you were to him?” 

“I wasn’t rude,” Katria sputtered. “He was a prick.” 

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “But his mother is the Dowager and he can do whatever he wants.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Katria said, frowning. “We have the situation handled.” 

Lady Montford leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. She sighed. “You’re bluffing. Badly. Which I would expect because you win games by cheating, not by having any actual talent.” 

“I’m not,” Katria said, narrowing her eyes. 

Lady Montford waved her hand dismissively, yet still aristocratically. “It’s not an urgent matter, dear sister. Mantillon simply wants to sleep around and brag about it. And you, as the Inquisitor, have made the list.” She shrugged. “Give him what he wants, and his complaints go away. I’m sure whatever inevitable Templar you’re fucking won’t mind.”

Cullen felt all the color drain from him face and prayed that she did not look at him. Maybe being in the ballroom would have been a better idea. 

Katria slammed her hand on the table, her face red. “I-I’m not—I don’t…you don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

Lady Montford smirked. “Oh please, I know there are Templars at that forsaken castle of yours. I bet you couldn’t wait to sink your teeth into one. That’s all you did in Ostwick.” 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” Katria snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway. I’m not _going_ to be either! Mantillon can go to the Void.” 

“I was only suggesting a solution to your little problem,” Lady Montford said. “I would be happy to step in on your behalf and talk to him.” 

“Why?” Katria asked. 

“I would be a most helpful ally to the Inquisition.” 

“No,” Katria said angrily. “Not now, not ever. I think you should leave.” 

“Let me try this again,” she said. “Your skull is so thick some things bear repeating, I suppose. You _will_ appoint me as the official Inquisition liaison to Val Royeaux because you can’t afford not to.” Lady Montford slid her finger along the table. “I know you, Katria. I know what pushes your buttons, I know how to make you falter, I know all the little secrets you think you hid so well in our youth.” 

“And I know your secrets, too,” Katria shot back. 

Lady Montford swept both her hands out in a placating gesture. “So, perhaps you can understand why an alliance would benefit us both. I play the Game very well, and you need all the help you can get.” 

“She has a valid point,” Josephine remarked tentatively.

Katria threw a hard glare at her. “What? You really think this is a good idea? She’ll just throw the Inquisition’s name around for her own gain.” 

Lady Montford shook her head. “That’s how this all works, dear sister-,”

“Stop calling me that,” Katria interrupted tersely. “You’re not my sister.” 

She continued, unperturbed. “As I was saying, the Inquisition will benefit from using the Montford name in negotiation. Although Cyril is the newest member of the Council of Heralds, he is one of the wealthiest men in Val Royeaux. Without the support of the Chantry, I’m sure this Inquisition is in need of at least some financial assistance.” 

Katria looked at Josephine, who gave an imperceptible nod of her head, which made Katria huff. “Fine,” she ground out. “I will leave the decision up to my ambassador. She’s the one that has to deal with you.” 

Josephine smiled. “We would be honored to have you lend your assistance to our cause, Lady Montford.” 

“You don’t have to be nice to her!” Katria snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She then stood. “I will leave you two to negotiate. I have more important matters to attend to. Commander Cullen, I need to talk to you.” 

“Nasty business, that assassination attempt,” Lady Montford remarked, inspecting her delicate white gloves. “I hope you have enough sense to know that Empress Celene needs to stay on the throne.” 

Katria was already heading for the door. “Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.” 

Cullen hurried after her as she walked into the hallway. She did not go far, just a few feet to the railing that looked down on a lower level of the Hall of Heroes. The area was deserted, but Cullen could still hear conversations and the clink of glasses from the vestibule. 

Katria spoke very softly. “I always thought we’d see each other again. I had elaborate fantasies where I found her begging on the streets, destitute, or as a servant girl somewhere. Or dead.” She shook her head. “That’s all they were though. Pure fantasy. Kate is cut-throat and spectacularly intelligent, favorite qualities among Orlesians, I guess.” 

Cullen did not know what to say. Her hate for her sister ran deep, he could see that. But if this Lady Montford was willing to lend her aid to the Inquisition, he knew they had to take it. 

Katria shifted her weight, peeking up at him with a blush on her cheeks. “That stuff she said about Templars was highly embarrassing. You looked like you were about to faint.” 

He cleared his throat. “I was just…caught off guard.” 

“I promise that you—you and I…” She stopped and fiddled with some hair that had fallen out of her bun. “My feelings have nothing to do with you being a Templar, I promise.” 

“It’s alright,” he said, smiling slightly. “I was not aware that you had a type.” 

“I do,” she said sheepishly. “You flex those handsome, warrior arms of yours and I turn into a puddle.” 

Cullen blushed. He needed to change the subject, quickly, before he spent the next ten minutes blathering about everything he liked about her. 

“If you ever need to talk to me, you know I’m here for you.” 

Katria sighed. “Thank you, but I would much prefer to console myself with tiny cakes and champagne.” She snorted. “However, I reached the limit Josie and I agreed upon about five minutes into the evening.” She turned around and leaned her back against the railing beside them. “Also, there’s this Venatori assassin running around the palace who needs an introduction to the dagger hidden in my boot.” 

Cullen nodded. “The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better. So then we can leave.” 

“You aren’t enjoying the pleasures of the ballroom?” she asked playfully. 

He groaned. “I’m miserable. All these people—they won’t leave me alone.” 

She smiled wryly. “Not enjoying the attention, then?” 

Cullen snorted. “Hardly. Anyway yours-,” He cleared his throat and leaned closer. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

Katria put her palm on his chest and gently pushed him away. “Enough with your charm, Prince Cullen. It’s distracting.” 

He was pleased he came across as charming. It happened so rarely around her. Still, he grumbled, “I’m not a prince.” 

She turned back around and leaned her elbows onto the railing. “Who do you think the Inquisition should support?” 

“Gaspard’s claim to the throne is fair,” Cullen replied. “Orlais needs someone capable of responding to the crisis at hand. A military-minded leader seems the best option.” 

Katria wove her fingers together, staring down at them. “Thank you for your input. You should get back to the ballroom before you’re missed. I’m going to gather the others and investigate the servant’s quarters.” 

Cullen straightened and stepped back. “Yes, Inquisitor. Be careful.”

He headed towards the door that opened to the vestibule. His ears just caught the sound of Katria giving a loud sigh behind him. He turned around. Still leaning with one elbow against the railing, Katria reached down and pulled a dagger from her boot. It was the old one she always carried with her on her belt. She studied the hilt of it for a few moments before pressing it against her forehead and along the bridge of her nose. Her eyes closed, and then squeezed even more tightly shut, like she was trying not to cry. He returned to the ballroom.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Katria stepped into the ballroom, shoulder aching and fumbling with the last few shots of adrenaline she had left before she collapsed in an exhausted pile on the floor. As if maintaining a diplomatic demeanor had not been enough of a task for the evening, she’d also had to fight off demons and whole groups of Venatori led by a terribly grumpy Grand Duchess. Because apparently when Corypheus plans an assassination, he wants almost an entire army to do it.

The good news was, Katria did not get too many weary glances as she stumbled into the room. Her stock had apparently gone up in the Court, after all her dancing, and her sister soothing over things with Lord Mantillon. She’d even overheard someone calling her “delightful”. 

Cullen hurried over right when he saw her. “Thank the Maker you’re back,” he said. “The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?” 

She held up her hand. “Wait here. I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “What? There’s no time! The Empress will begin her speech at any moment!” 

“Trust me,” she said as she slipped past him. She then took a deep breath to steel herself against the fear of what she was about to do. Maker, this had better work. 

Grand Duchess Florianne was waiting with Gaspard and Briala, right below where the Empress would begin her speech. Katria walked towards them, attempting to radiate confidence. 

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace,” she said. Her voice was unwavering, clear and deafening. So far, so good. 

Florianne turned, her face blank. “Inquisitor.” 

Katria fought the urge to run up and punch her directly in the face, which is generally what she wanted to do to people who tried to kill her. 

“The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile.” She began climbing the steps. “After all, this is your party. You wouldn’t want them to think you had lost control.” 

“Who would not be delighted to speak to you, Inquisitor?” Florianne asked, as she backed away to the wall. 

“I want to speak to you because there’s no need for more death,” Katria said. “Corypheus is only using you. I’m giving you the chance to end this peacefully. Try not to spoil it with rudeness.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied coyly. 

“See, now you’re spoiling it with stupidity,” she said, grimacing. “Or have you forgotten when you tried to kill me in the garden just a moment ago?” 

Katria clasped her hands behind her back, circling Florianne like she was prey. “When your archers failed to kill me out there, I was afraid you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” 

She walked even closer. “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council emissary. It was an ambitious plan—Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds, all your enemies under one roof.” 

Florianne smiled thinly. “This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?”

Celene spoke up from above them. “That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” 

Katria leaned towards her. “I don’t think they do any dancing where you’re going.” 

Florianne’s hand disappeared behind her back in a blur, and the next moment, a dagger was clutched in her fingers and careening towards her. Katria grabbed her forearm and pushed so the blade barely missed her side, then slid her grip down to her wrist and twisted, forcing Florianne to drop the knife. She wrenched her arm behind her and yanked her close. Katria had grabbed her own dagger with her other hand, and she put it to Florianne’s throat. 

“Thank you so much for that,” Katria said. “I was hoping you’d attack me in a panic. I get so few opportunities to showcase my skill set, and you just made me look unbelievably impressive in front of the entire court of Orlais.” 

Katria glanced over and saw two guards approaching them. “Oh, and you just confirmed your own guilt.” She pursed her lips before she released the Grand Duchess. Killing her now would be something Leliana would want—might be the logical thing to do. Katria instead pulled the knife away from her neck and shoved her into the arms of one of the soldiers. 

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You’re just the last to find out.” 

Katria grinned and looked up at Empress Celene. “Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private. Elsewhere.” 

Celene nodded in assent, and as she walked up the steps, Katria let out a low sigh of relief. This ‘Game’ was harder to play than she thought, but at least it would be over soon. 

===

Keeping Celene alive allowed Katria to broach the topic of reconciliation between the Empress and Briala. It worked, to her surprise, and after only a few more minutes of standing before the court, feeling awkward and without the right words, she was released to disappear into the crowds of nobles. Josephine forced her to receive some congratulations, from the Dowager even, before Katria escaped to the balcony and contemplated jumping over it into the garden to sprint back to Skyhold.

As she stood leaning on the railing, feeling the cool night air on her skin, someone approached her. Katria looked over, saw it was her sister, then frowned deeply. 

Kate’s eyebrow rose. “You were hoping for someone else?” 

“I’d be happier to see Corypheus,” she muttered. 

Kate adjusted her white gloves. “I see that age has not made you any less melodramatic.” 

“What is it exactly that you want?” Katria snapped, resting on one elbow to glare at her. “I’ve allowed you to join the Inquisition. I’d rather you just leave me alone.” 

“I was hoping there would be less hostility between us,” she said evenly. “I’ve heard tales about how forgiving the Inquisitor can be. You proved that tonight. I would have slit Florianne’s throat.” 

“You don’t get forgiven, Kate,” she growled. “Not after….” She clenched her fingers against the railing. “You have no idea what I had to do when you left. I was destitute. I spent years on the verge of starvation. I…” 

Kate tilted her head. “You always had the funniest habit of clinging to the past while somehow still attempting to pretend it never happened.” She shook her head. “I thought after all these years, you’d be less…tortured.” 

“You certainly aren’t familiar with the concept, but I am the kind of person that feels remorse for her actions,” Katria spat. 

She straightened and clasped her hands together. “I can feel remorse. I was young and foolish when I left the Free Marches with our inheritance. I should not have taken everything.” 

“Saying that doesn’t do any good.” 

“I know that,” Kate said. “But I work for the Inquisition now. I can help you. I intend to.” 

“I don’t need help,” she muttered. 

“You do,” she said, smirking. “You are lucky to have me on your side. Your other advisors are competent, I suppose. Lady Montilyet is involved in little scandal. Sister Leliana certainly has useful skills. Oh, and who could forget the handsome Commander Cullen.” 

Katria bowed her head and said nothing. 

“I thought so,” Kate said smugly, after a few moments. 

“What?” 

“You can’t hide from me, dear sister,” she whispered. “I see your blush, and his hair, his nice arms, you like him. Might even already be involved with him.” She put her finger against her chin. “And what was it that Commander Cullen did before this? Oh right. He was a Templar.”

“That is none of your business,” Katria replied. 

“You’re not going to hurt him, like the others, are you?” she asked. 

Katria jerked around to her. “I would never-,” She stopped when she saw Cullen by the windows—he had approached, then awkwardly stopped when he saw she was with someone. “You should go,” she said in a low voice. 

Her sister gave a wicked smile. “I looked forward to visiting you in Skyhold, Inquisitor.”

Kate sauntered away, and Cullen peeked back out on the balcony. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he approached her. He held out a small plate, filled with dark, tiny cakes topped with gold dust. “I brought you some of these. I won’t tell Josephine.” 

Katria accepted them gladly. “I’m…much better now.” She popped one into her mouth, but after the earthy, licorice taste slid over her tongue, she spit it back out. 

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Maker, that’s disgusting.” She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and laughed. “I think these are the deep mushroom and anise flavored ones. Orlesians call them ‘the exquisite misery’.”

As she put the plate on the railing beside them, Cullen flushed. “Forgive me, I didn’t know, I can-,” 

Katria put her hand on his arm. “Please stay. It was a very thoughtful gesture.” 

Cullen walked over to lean next to her on the balcony. “I’m glad this is all over.” 

“As am I,” she replied, nodding. “It was certainly a more surprising evening than I expected. Bloodier, too.” 

“You did an excellent job,” he said softly. “Josephine is most pleased with the outcome of events. You are a popular figure now.” He shifted and put his hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” 

“Cullen, I’m now convinced you’re worried for me every night,” she said, covering her hand with his. 

“That’s because you manage _daily_ to do something reckless.”

“Reckless and successful,” she countered, squeezing his fingers. 

She felt his hand slipping away as a new music set began to play in the ballroom. He cleared his throat to get her attention. He was standing, bowing slightly, arm outstretched. “I may never have a chance like this, so I must ask. May I have this dance, my Lady?” 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t dance?” 

Cullen took her hand and pulled her against him. He had the configuration right, but she could still feel his hesitation. “For you, I’ll try,” he said. 

“So let me get this straight,” Katria began, gliding with him on the balcony. “You _didn’t_ want to dance when I asked you earlier, but then I kill about fifteen of the Venatori and stop an assassination, and suddenly you’re interested?”

He smiled slightly. “What can I say, I find your ability to do your job very attractive.” 

Cullen stepped on her foot, but she made no noise and gracefully maneuvered away. 

“Templars were never ones for dancing,” he muttered, his cheeks red. 

She laughed. “Honestly, I prefer it this way. If we were both too good at this, Josephine would drag us to more masquerades, and I think I’ve had enough contact with nobility for a lifetime.”

“I can agree with that," he said. 

Katria grinned and pressed herself against him. She wanted to kiss him, but Josephine had politely warned against excessive physical contact with anyone. 

So she would just have to do much more of it later. 

===

Cullen accompanied the Inquisitor to their temporary residence, but did not return to his room immediately because he had some work and coordination to do with the troops they’d brought to the Winter Palace. 

It was midnight when he made it to his door. He swung it open and unclasped the top of his uniform as he walked inside. He stopped dead when he saw a figure curled on an armchair by his window. 

Katria was asleep and laying with her legs draped over the arm of the chair, her body obscured by a thick, fur blanket. Only her face and her tousled hair were visible in the moonlight streaming in from the window.

Cullen tentatively approached her and knelt down so his face was at her eye level. She let out a small snore and shifted. 

“Katria?” he whispered. 

Her eyes flew open surprisingly quickly. She must have been a very light sleeper. She pulled her hands out from the blanket and blearily rubbed her eyes. 

“Cullen?” she said. She finally looked at him. “Oh, Cullen. Hi.”

“Is….everything okay?” he asked. 

Katria nodded and pulled the blanket down further. He tried not to notice that her shirt was partially undone and showed some of her collarbone. “I came to your room, thinking you’d be by any minute and I must have fallen asleep. I’m very sorry.”

He put his hand on her knee. “It’s alright. I hate that I kept you waiting.” 

“No, no,” she said. “I was being silly. I…just wanted an excuse to see you again.” 

Cullen used his other hand to brush his knuckles across her cheek. “You must be tired.” 

“Exhausted,” she said. 

“Why don’t you go to sleep then?” he asked. 

Katria bit her lip. “I want to talk to you.” 

Instead of saying anything else, Katria reached out and grabbed his jacket, pulling him over and capturing her lips in his. It wasn’t what came to mind when he thought of what talking involved, but he pressed her further back into the armchair anyway, his fingers sliding down her neck to where her shirt was unfastened. Just as he fumbled with the blanket pressed between them, she pulled away. Katria bolted up and over the arm of the chair, stumbling towards the only window in the room. She folded her arms in front of her chest. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this with me,” she whispered.

Cullen deposited the blanket on the chair and slowly stood. “Why?” 

“Because I’m a bad person,” she said. 

“You?” he began incredulously. “What would make you say something like that?” 

Katria tightened her grip on her arms. She looked longingly at the door, and her legs tensed, like she was going to leave, before she sighed. 

“I did terrible things when I was in Ferelden on my own,” Katria eventually said. “I had so little money that I joined violent mercenary bands, I stole, and even before that in Ostwick…” 

She made a frustrated noise. “This is all Kate’s fault—she ruins _everything_.” Katria finally looked at him with a defeated expression. “Cullen, I-I nothing short of hated Templars when I was younger. After what my father made them do to me, and after…” She buried her face in her hands. “I was so angry in the whole _decade_ after Fredrick died. And I would blame anyone, anything else for his death—Templars are supposed to protect people from magic, but where were they when I…when I needed help?” She threw her hands up. “Of course, their version of _help_ would have probably been to make me Tranquil, but I didn’t care about that, or anything, except my grief. My bitterness.” 

“What does this have to do with what Kate said?” Cullen asked. 

“Because she didn’t say it _right_ ,” Katria replied. “I…I was with some Templars, yes, but it wasn’t because I liked them. It was because I wanted to _hurt_ them.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

Katria looked down at her bare feet. She had taken her boots off and put them by the chair earlier. “I was a very angry teenager, and I saw these eager, bright-eyed recruits and I….” She clenched her fists. “I was so terribly charming, I would break their hearts, make _them_ break curfew, _any_ rules I could. By the time I was 21, I’d even gotten some Templars kicked out of the Order.” Katria covered her mouth, like she was suddenly aware of what she’d said. 

Cullen had to admit that this was…a lot to take in. She must have _hoarded_ bitterness to be able to do such things for so long. 

“I know it was wrong to manipulate them like that,” she whispered. “Or at least to be such a malicious person that I seduced these perfectly nice people because I wanted them to feel pain, like I had.” 

Katria put her face back in her hands. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I’m not that person anymore, Cullen, I swear.” 

“Katria,” he said gently. He walked over and held her face in his hands. “It’s okay. That was a long time ago, and…” Cullen hesitated. “I’m not proud of the man I was at parts in _my_ life either. In Kirkwall….” He exhaled. “I treated people—mages—with distrust, and I-I wanted them locked away as much as Knight-Commander Meredith did. I should have seen through her madness sooner. I also let my anger blind me.” 

Cullen pulled her tight against him, burying his hand in her hair. “The Inquisition is our chance to atone, Katria. For all of it.” 

She laid quietly against him for a long time. She might have even been crying, but he couldn’t tell, and he doubted she’d admit it. 

“I wanted to explain all this to you sooner,” Katria eventually whispered. “But the Winter Palace seemed like an…inappropriate venue.” 

“Probably made a good call on that one,” he murmured back against her hair. 

Her body sagged further against his. “I figured you deserved to know about my past…relationships. Not even that they were Templars, just that I’ve never been a part of something serious before. Not in Ostwick, and certainly not when I was roaming Ferelden.” She shrugged. “If…serious is alright with you after everything I just said.” 

Cullen pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “That’s exactly what I want.” 

“Good,” she said, while beginning to yawn. “Otherwise this embrace would be a little awkward.” 

“You need rest,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you to your room.” 

Katria stepped away from him. “Going to carry me, my prince?” 

“Not if you keep calling me that.” 

She walked over to his chair and gathered up the fur blanket, hugging it to her chest and rubbing her face against it. “I’m taking this with me. It’s very comfortable.” 

Cullen put his arm around her as they walked out of his room. He carried her boots for her. Katria had wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and when they stopped at her door, he ran his hands down it along her arms. 

“It is soft,” he said. 

She smiled slightly. “I thought about bringing it back to Skyhold, but I think it’s made of fox fur. Which would just make Bailey cry uncontrollably.” She leaned backwards, so that her door creaked open. “Maybe I could have one made out of bear pelts. That would be satisfying.” 

Cullen put his hand above her on the doorframe and grabbed her waist with his other arm. 

“Get some rest.” 

He kissed her, for too long, and greatly resisted the urge to follow her into her room. He didn’t, but he could not deny how quickly his feelings for her were intensifying. Yet there was still—still that _gap_ he felt, like when he looked at Katria he wasn’t actually seeing her. There had been glimpses, sure, of a version of her that seemed much sadder and more conflicted than the patient, confident woman who gracefully walked around Skyhold, remembering the names of common soldiers and servants. And she had told him some things, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was maybe more she wasn’t saying.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

_Cullen,_

_Camping in the Western Approach is now even more unbearable after staying among the opulence and nice furry blankets of Val Royeaux. The only thing that has improved my mood is the copious amount of Venatori we’ve killed on the way to our rendezvous with Hawke and Stroud._

_Miserable, miserable news on that front. In an ancient Tevinter ritual tower, we came across a magister named Livius Erimond. Sera has since been referring to this man as Lord Arse-Face, and I am inclined to join her because he works for Corypheus and is coincidentally an asshole. He was facilitating a blood magic ritual that bound Warden mages to demons. A side effect? These mages and their demons are now under the control of Corypheus. He claimed that what we came upon was merely practice for creating an entire demon army._

_I have included more details in my official report, but Erimond eventually escaped. Stroud and Hawke say that he fled in the direction of Adamant Fortress, and they have gone to scout out the Warden population there. They will report back to Skyhold with their findings. They will discover nothing good, I know that, and I doubt we will have any choice but to lay siege to the fort to stop this demon army from being created. I will discuss this further with you when I return to Skyhold._

_I miss you._

_Katria_

=== 

Katria was eager to see Cullen after her return from the Western Approach. The trip had been difficult, not because of the terrain or the environment, but because all that business with Erimond, the blood magic, binding people to demons, dredged up painful memories she did not like to think about. She had no interest in talking to Cullen about these things, but his presence always made her feel more at ease. 

Her party arrived back in Skyhold in the afternoon to little fanfare, which is the way Katria preferred it. She washed up and changed in her quarters before going to find Cullen in his office. When she pushed open the door across from his desk, she saw he wasn’t there. 

A soldier was placing some reports on his desk and saluted to her. “Inquisitor. If you’re looking for Commander Cullen, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.” 

“Oh,” Katria began. “Thank you.” 

She walked back out to the walkway connecting Solas’ study to the office. Her eyes searched the courtyard and saw no sign of Cassandra by the practice dummies. When the Seeker wasn’t there, she was often in the smithy writing or secretly reading her trashy romance novels. 

Katria made her way to the upper courtyard. As she approached the door to the forge, she heard Cullen’s voice.

“Would you rather save face than admit-,” 

The minute the door rattled open, he stopped, looking at her with a defeated expression. Katria inched over, but as soon as she got close enough to say anything, Cullen bowed his head and slipped past her.

“Forgive me,” he said.

Katria furrowed her brow, but he was gone before any words came to mind. 

Cassandra shook her head. “And people say _I’m_ stubborn. This is ridiculous.” She shifted and looked over at her. “Cullen told you he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I worry, but I respect his decision.” 

“As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen,” Cassandra said. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.”

Katria looked with alarm at the door he left through. “Is he doing that badly?” 

She shook her head. “He has pushed himself too much lately.” 

“Well, that doesn’t mean he needs to be replaced,” Katria said. 

“You’re right,” Cassandra said. “I refused him. It’s not necessary.” She sighed. “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

Katria fiddled with a strand of her wet hair, squeezing it and sending water across her palm. “Why…didn’t he come to me?” 

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” Cassandra explained. “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers.” She looked away and at the fire in front of them. “And he wouldn’t want to…risk your disappointment.” 

Katria frowned. “I would never be disappointed in him.” 

“ _I_ know that,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps he needs to hear it.”

“Is there anything we can do to change his mind?” she asked. 

“If anyone could, it’s you,” she replied, turning back to meet her gaze. 

Katria hesitated. “I’m…not good at things like this. I don’t know what to say.” 

Cassandra shrugged. “It would not hurt to try.” 

“It quite possibly could, actually,” she muttered, then shook her head. “I will talk to him, of course. I want him to feel better more than anything.” 

“He _can_ do this,” Cassandra insisted. “I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.” 

Katria exhaled slowly. “Alright.” 

Cassandra clapped her on the shoulder as she left—her version of comfort, Katria imagined. She stayed a few more moments, staring at the fire. She was suddenly very tired now, she felt it in her head, her shoulders, her feet. Katria rolled her shoulders back and headed for his office. 

She reached his door, hesitated, then pushed it gently open. She waited at the threshold and was about to speak, when she heard a strangled cry, and something flew by her and smashed into the door frame. Katria jumped back. 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed from his desk. “I didn’t hear you enter! I…” He shook his head. “Forgive me.” 

Katria looked down at the shattered box—he’d thrown it so hard all that was left were shards of wood and the now crooked metal hinges that once held the lid together. 

“So long as you weren’t aiming at me. I’m sure the box had it coming.” 

Cullen slammed his palm down on his desk. “How is this a joke to you?” he snarled. He groaned and fell against his hand further, clutching his side with his other arm. 

Katria reeled backwards at the intensity of his words—she hadn’t meant for her comment to…to upset him. Maker, sometimes she wished she wasn’t so much like herself. 

She rushed forward to help him, but he extended his arm to stop her. 

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said softly. 

She clutched her hands to her chest. “I know,” she replied desperately. “Cullen, I know. This isn’t a joke to me. I’m so sorry.” Her throat tightened. She steeled herself against shedding any tears over the self-loathing she currently had for herself. Katria was not good at this. She was not good with anything that had to do with pain or suffering, her own or anyone else’s, because her instinct was simply to bury it. She felt so unworthy being in his office, after what she said, but she also cared so deeply for this man. 

“I…You are so important to me.” Katria sniffled, but hoped he didn’t hear. “Are you going to be all right?” 

Cullen finally looked up at her. “Yes,” he said, but then stopped and gave a strangled sigh. “I don’t know.” 

With much effort, he pushed himself off the desk. “You asked what happened at Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The Templars— _my friends_ —were slaughtered.” 

Cullen turned his back to her and walked to his window, staring outside with his eyebrows drawn together. Katria hesitantly stepped closer, her fingers touching the edge of his desk. 

“I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I—,” He threw his hands up. “How can you be the same person after that?” 

Cullen looked back at her, almost smiling bitterly. “Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness.” He ran his gloved hand along his temple. “Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.” 

Cullen spun around. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” he demanded. 

“Of course I can,” she said, stepping closer. “I-,” 

“Don’t!” he interjected angrily. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.” 

Katria ran her thumb along her cheek, then let her arms drop to her hips. Cullen stepped away from the window, coming closer to her, but not meeting her gaze. She could see the sweat that had built up on his temples, the dark circles under his eyes. Her heart ached. 

“I thought this would be better—that I would regain some control. But these thoughts won’t leave me…” 

He began to pace in front of his bookshelf, taking big shuddering breaths. “How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.” 

Katria reached out for him with one hand. “Cullen…” 

He twisted away. “I should be taking it,” he growled. “I should be taking it!” Cullen punctuated his last sentence by curling his hand into fist and slamming it into the bookshelf beside him. 

“Cullen,” Katria said again, taking two steps towards him. Her hand hovered over his hunched frame for a moment, but she instead leaned against the bookshelf beside him. 

“This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition—it _shouldn’t_ be. Is taking lyrium what you want to do?” 

Cullen looked up at her while his hand dropped limply to his side. “No,” he whispered. “But….these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I cannot endure this…” 

Katria pressed her fingers against the cool metal of his breastplate. “You can.” 

He stared at the ground for a few moments, jaw clenched, before his eyes flickered back up to hers, and he gave a long exhale. “All right.” 

She rapped her knuckle twice against his armor. “You’re done with work for today.” 

“What? No, Katria, I have-,”

“To rest,” she finished, putting one hand on each of his shoulders and guiding him towards the ladder that led up to his bedroom. 

“Really, I’m fine. I don’t-,” Cullen groaned and reached for the ladder, leaning against it and putting his hand over his temple. 

“Are you okay?” Katria asked. She sighed impatiently. “Never mind, I know what you’re going to say. _I’m fine._ But you’re not. Up the ladder, my prince.”

He had his fingers around the rungs near his face. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused, disoriented. “You have _got_ to stop calling me that.” 

She leaned forward. “Then get up the ladder.” 

Cullen slowly made his way to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. He tried to remove his bracers, but his brow creased in frustration when tremors shot through his hand. 

“I’ll get it,” Katria said gently, reaching out for him. 

“That’s not necessary,” he insisted. 

She tightened her grip on his arm. “Please let me.” She winked at him. “I want to practice.” 

Katria put the bracer on the bed beside him and began to work on the other. “Sorry if that was, um, inappropriate. I excel at diversions. Not comfort.”

Despite her instinct to simply throw his armor aside on the floor, she knew he’d want it in its designated spot, so she gathered up the bracers and his boots and put them by his armor stand and sword. 

When she turned back around, Cullen was holding his jacket in his hands, regarding her wearily. “I’m afraid if I turn this over I’ll never see it again.” 

She smirked. “Oh you can rest assured you won’t.” 

Katria helped him out of his breastplate and final pieces of armor before urging him back onto the bed. He buried his head in his hands. She could see the muscles in his shoulders tensing. 

“I’m going to get you some tea, and something dry and terribly bland to eat. I’ll leave it on the table for you when you’re ready.” 

His voice was muffled as his head hung between his legs. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.” 

“I deserved it,” she muttered. “Now, please, stop worrying about me. The Inquisition. Anything except getting some well-deserved rest.” 

“I will try,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Katria ran her fingers through his hair a few times. “I’ll let you sleep. I’ll be at your desk doing some paperwork—I hate to stay up here and mother you. I fuss over actual children and foxes occasionally, but that’s all.” 

She leaned over and pressed her lips against the top of his head. “I’m here if you need me.” Katria wanted to say something else, but felt a tightness in her throat, so she hurried to his ladder and slid down it. 

There was a minute of tears at his desk—her shoulders shook from the effort of keeping herself quiet. She felt like an idiotic, blubbering child. She knew she had to steel herself. Crying did not help Cullen, it didn’t help her. There was no magic spell that could make him forget all this pain. There was just enduring it. 

Katria worked at his desk for a few hours, resisting the urge to check on him every five minutes. Cassandra appeared just as frequently, and seemed pleased when Katria said that Cullen would continue not to take lyrium. When she did climb the ladder, he was in a heavy sleep, sweat on his temples, body shivering. The one time he woke up, she gave him some of Marianne’s tea, which he subsequently heaved back up an hour later. 

She thought about returning to her quarters when night fell, but simply couldn’t. She slumped back into his chair and fell asleep. 

===

Cullen awoke just as light began streaming through the hole in his roof. He felt better, but still sluggish. He could only remember flashes of last night. He had been dizzy and disoriented, but knew Katria had stayed. 

Cullen ran his fingers through his hair, trying to put it in some semblance of order. He slid his boots on, but none of his other armor, and slid down the ladder to his office. It was darker in there, but Katria was still visible, slumped against his chair, fast asleep. As he approached her, he noticed the distressed expression on her face, her whimpers, the way her fists were clenched around the arm of his chair. 

Her eyes flew open suddenly with a strangled gasp. She was falling out of the chair, and Cullen reached out to catch her. She immediately squirmed out of his grasp and staggered backwards. 

“Where….” Katria leaned against his desk, trying to catch her breath. “Fuck.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, blinking. “Am I…” She shook her head. “I’m fine. Of course. Just a…bad dream. I should be asking you that.” 

“I feel much better,” he said. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really.” 

Katria nodded and pushed herself up straight. “I’m glad.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “You need to eat something. I need to leave for Val Royeaux soon. Is that alright?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Cullen asked, walking over to her. 

“I don’t want to leave if you still…” She gestured vaguely between them. “Need help. Or me. Or rest.” 

Cullen folded her into a hug. “I’m not going to keep you from doing Inquisition business.” 

She buried her face in his neck. “I’m going with Josephine to meet with some Comte, so I wish you would.” 

He squeezed her tightly. “Thank you for…” He trailed off, and she squeezed him back. 

“Anytime, my prince. Truly.” 

Cullen groaned. “I’m never going to forgive Josephine for making me wear that stupid outfit.” 

“Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s entirely too much fun to tease you.”

He put his hand in her hair and kissed her. When he pulled away, her eyes were glassy and she untangled herself from him. Katria cleared her throat. 

“Go eat. I’m serious. I will see you in about a week.” She hesitated and put her hands on his shoulders. “Cullen, you’re worthy and strong and you can do this and I’ll always be here for you.” She kissed his cheek, then stepped back. 

Cullen watched her disappear through his door while he rubbed the back of his neck. He appreciated how hard she tried to do this—whatever _this_ was because he was no expert either—even when she didn’t seem to have much experience with it. It hadn't been easy, but talking about the incident at Ferelden's Circle was... comforting. The memories didn't bring him comfort, but saying them, acknowledging them, knowing he was breaking away from that life by not taking lyrium, was more liberating then he'd thought it would be.

===

Katria and Josephine returned to Skyhold in less than a week because of the increased risk to Josephine’s safety from the House of Repose. Their fortress, with more guards, was the safest place for her until the contract on her life was dealt with. 

They arrived home at dawn, and Josephine retired immediately to her quarters, probably to recover from the less-than-luxurious conditions Katria and her party lived in while camping on the road. The courtyard was still relatively quiet as Katria trudged through it—she thought perhaps it was early enough she could visit Cullen without any interruptions. 

He was not in his office, but was instead on the battlements, looking out at the mountains and enjoying the early morning air. Katria jogged up the steps to him as he turned and rubbed his neck. 

“I wanted to thank you…when you came to see me…if there’s anything…” He sighed. “This sounded much better in my head.” 

“I think a hello would have sufficed,” she said, grinning. She leaned next to him on the stone wall. “Are you still feeling alright?” 

“Yes, I am,” he said. 

Katria began fiddling with her fingers. “Is it always that bad?” 

“The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there…” He bowed his head. “I should have not pushed myself so far that day.” 

“Skyhold won’t fall apart if you take an hour or two for yourself now and then,” she whispered, nudging him with her shoulder. 

He smiled slightly. “I will keep that in mind.” 

They stood in silence, listening to the wind whistle past them, until Cullen cleared his throat. “I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle.” He shook his head. “I was not…myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me.” 

“We all make bad choices sometimes,” she said softly. “Then we learn, and do it less.” 

Cullen took her hand and squeezed it before letting go again. “Now I can put some distance between myself and what happened. It’s a start.” 

Katria shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are now.” 

He looked over at her hesitantly. “Ever after…” 

She propped herself on one elbow so she could face him. Her hand slid up his arm. “Cullen, I care about you. You’ve done nothing to change that.” 

His smile was heart-breaking, but he quickly looked away, cheeks flushed. 

“What about you?” he asked. “You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?” 

Katria turned back to the mountains, surveying them, as she tried to think of what to say. The nightmares, the pressure, the fatigue from travel, the blood on her hands—she was barely holding up. All this was crushing her. 

“I’ll feel better when there’s no longer a darkspawn magister around trying to tear a hole in the Fade.” 

“We’ve made great strides and we will defeat him,” Cullen said. 

“I certainly hope you’re right,” she murmured. 

He slid his hand along her shoulders and leaned in to briefly kiss her cheek. She imagined he did not want to be too affectionate considering the last time they’d been on the battlements together. Still, he stayed close and whispered to her. "Thank you for being there for me." Then he left, and she felt much better.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to this chapter, I added another short scene to the end of the last chapter. I liked how it fit there better.

Katria was waiting in the War Room for the rest of her advisors, stretching out her shoulder, trying to ignore the ache that was still there. Leliana and Josephine came in together, but it wasn’t until a few minutes later that Cullen appeared. He walked over and handed her a report. 

“This requires your immediate attention, Inquisitor.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as she accepted it. 

He walked to the other side of the table. “We received a letter from a woman named Sister Paulette. She was accompanying a group of injured Inquisition soldiers to Ferelden when they were pinned down by a group of Avvar. They are requesting our aid.” 

“Send it,” Katria said. 

Cullen shook his head. “Soldiers dispatched from Skyhold will not reach them in time.” He hesitated, putting his hand on his sword. “We have men in that area who are pursuing a group of red Templars we suspect of moving captured civilians to one of their red lyrium mines.” 

“So, could we divert them to provide aid to the trapped soldiers?” she asked. 

“They would likely lose the trail of the red Templars, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. 

“These soldiers are still our allies,” Josephine interjected. “They’ve done their part. We cannot abandon them.” 

Katria looked over at Leliana. “Do you have any scouts in the area?” 

The Spymaster shook her head. “No, Inquisitor.” 

“No one wants to make this call, but if the Red Templars escape, more people will be harmed,” Cullen insisted. “Our soldiers would understand.”

Katria kept her eyes on the report in her hand. She didn’t dare look at Cullen. It was certainly not an easy decision to make, and it was made no better considering how Cullen would react to losing a lead with the red Templars. 

She gave a deep exhale. “Josephine is right. We can’t abandon them.” She finally looked at Cullen, trying to keep her face as stoic as possible. “Please send word to those soldiers to divert their course as quickly as possible.” 

Cullen regarded her with a neutral expression. “Yes, Inquisitor. I will send the orders at once.” He left the room, and Katria finished her work with Leliana and Josephine.

Katria did not see Cullen until the next day. Before the incident with the red Templars happened, they had already agreed to play chess together—Katria was a little relieved when he arrived in her quarters. 

Half-way through their game, Katria realized Cullen had answered all her questions with less than five words.

Katria moved one of her pieces across the board. “Are you alright?” she asked tentatively. “You seemed…distracted.” 

He looked up at her. “I’m fine.” 

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes until Cullen spoke again. 

“I just heard word from Lieutenant Kestrel. They lost the red Templars’ trail.” 

“Oh.” Katria rubbed the side of her face. “I’d be happy to send some of Leliana’s agents to try and pick the trail back up.” 

“That likely won’t help.” 

“What can help then?” she asked. 

Cullen leaned back in his chair. “Nothing. Nothing will help. You chose to give up that lead. I told you the soldiers would understand. I told you more people would die if we lost them.”

“You don’t know that,” Katria said. 

“I do,” he snapped. “Samson and his operations are the biggest threat to the Inquisition. They must be stopped.” 

" _Corypheus_ is the biggest threat to the Inquisition, Cullen,” she said firmly.

“And who serves Corypheus?” he asked. “Who does his dirty work for him? Samson.” He stood and began pacing in front of the table. “I thought you would be able to make hard decisions when they arose. We have to stop the red Templars. That must be our priority.” 

“It is,” Katria insisted. She slumped back against her chair, putting her face in her hands. “I think you should leave.” 

“Why?” he asked angrily. “I’m not allowed to talk to you about these things? You just want to make all Inquisition decisions without any help?”

She finally stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “I already made my decision. I heard your input, and I took it into consideration.” She ran her hand through her hair. “You know, I thought you came here to spend time with me. Not get angry.” 

“This is important to me,” Cullen said. “You can’t…just run away from these problems.” 

Katria threw her hand up. “Oh, yes, fantastic. Use _that_.” 

“That’s why you asked me to leave,” he insisted. “You’ve got a problem, you run away, or make a joke about it. Oh, or of course there’s drinking until you’ve forgotten about it.” 

“And you let your problems consume you until there’s nothing left but a mechanical, professional shell of a person,” she shot back. 

Cullen gave a tiny grunt of frustration. “I’m not going to do this with you.” He looked down at the chessboard, moved a piece, and returned his gaze to her. “Checkmate,” he muttered, then stormed down the stairs. 

“Real mature, Commander,” she snapped, but he was gone from the room by the time she replied. 

Katria walked over to her desk and snatched a bottle off the table. She began to pour herself a glass of whatever was inside, then realized Cullen was right about her, and slammed the bottle back on her desk. She threw herself into her bed, trying to calm herself down. She heard her door swing back open and hurriedly raised herself up on her palms, hoping Cullen had returned. It was Dorian. She flopped back down on her bed. 

“Our dear Lady Ambassador has restricted me from the wine cellar,” he announced, crossing the room to inspect the bottle at her desk. “She’s also asked me to replace the 14 bottles I took! It’s outrageous!” 

Katria turned her face to the side. “Only 14?” 

He pointed over at her. “True. I got lucky on that one.” 

She propped herself up on her elbow. “I’m assuming you’re telling me this because you want me to do something about it?” 

“Yes, be a dear and give me unlimited access to the wine cellar.” 

“Oh, I’ll get to that right away,” she said. “Forget the siege on Adamant Fortress or the red Templars, your needs are clearly more important.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you so prickly today?” 

She frowned and turned back around to her pillow. “It’s nothing.” 

“So Cullen?” 

Katria huffed. “I will not be reduced to some adolescent girl bemoaning over a silly boy. I am the Inquisitor. I’m in charge of things.” 

Dorian held his hands out. “On this side of the room, sure. But on the other side, where you’re currently moping in your bed, you’re just Katria. You snore and fidget and drink, scorn logic and tell decent stories.” 

“I tell _excellent_ stories,” she muttered, then she sighed. “And I’m always the Inquisitor, even over here. I thought I wasn’t. I thought I could still be myself sometimes, but I can’t escape it.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against her desk. “Being the Inquisitor is not something you should want to _escape_ from. Just look at all the power you have. Power to grant me unlimited access to the wine cellar, for instance.” 

“Why exactly do you need to _increase_ your consumption of wine?” Katria asked. “Mother Giselle been bothering you again?” 

“It takes more to get me to the wine cellar than thinly-veiled accusations,” Dorian said, then paused and pursed his lips in thought. “Do the rumors she mentioned bother _you_?”

Katria sat up further in her bed. “No. I wish they wouldn’t disparage you, though.” She smirked. “There are worse qualities to have than being a bit pompous and self-absorbed.” 

He put his hand to his chest. “You wound me.” 

She snorted. “You would not be smiling if I was really trying to wound you.” 

Dorian grinned and lowered his hand. “You know, perhaps it’s odd to say, but I think of you as a friend.” He shrugged. “I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find one here.” 

Her brow rose at the genuine nature of his statement—perhaps Mother Giselle’s comments affected him more than he let on. She cleared her throat. “I-,” 

“Don’t speak,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with.” 

“Oh, I was going to ask you to pass me the bottle beside you.” 

Dorian gave her a pointed look, but broke into a smile. “Katria, allow me to say I’ll stand beside you—against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor—so long as you’ll have me.” He grabbed the bottle, inspected it, and stood. “Also, this is mine now.”

Dorian headed for the staircase that lead out of her quarters. “You know, I’m sure if you invite Cullen back here for a game of chess, except without clothing, you’d forget all about why you’re mad at each other.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, Dorian. That is some world class problem solving. Thank you.” 

Katria put her hand behind her head as she listened to him leave the room. Part of her hated that she, as the Inquisitor, couldn’t even have friends without others wondering what sort of ‘influence’ they might have over her. She’d stood up to Mother Giselle, but maybe she needed to be making that point to other people. Although it was hard, and some days she wished she could just disappear back into the forest, Katria…liked being the Inquisitor. And being the Inquisitor meant she was in charge. When she gave orders, they were meant to be followed. Katria had new and dear friends, but she hadn’t, and wouldn’t, let that fact interfere with her ability to do her job. 

===

Cullen spent the rest of the day in his office and did not think much more about his interaction with Katria from that afternoon. Well, it was not an interaction. It was an argument. They’d argued, and he’d stormed off, and spent the next hour mired in thoughts about how utterly finished things probably were between them. Which, in retrospect, seemed dramatic. Not that Cullen knew the right words to say to fix the situation.

Katria opened his door at nightfall and strode straight up to his desk. 

“I need to speak to you.” 

Cullen put down the report he had been reading. “Yes?” 

Her arms hung stiffly at her side as she spoke, her shoulders straight. “My name is Katria, but I am also the Inquisitor. Skyhold is my domain. I am in charge here.” 

Cullen grimaced. “I know-,” 

“Let me finish,” she said, raising her hand. “It is not easy for me to separate my feelings from my job because I am mostly guided by my conscience. I know that you and I rarely see eye-to-eye on Inquisition business. I know that Leliana’s way of doing things is usually my way of doing things, but I also can, according to you both, be entirely too _soft_ for all this.”

She sighed. “Your opinion is very important to me, but it is not fair to Leliana or Josephine for you to try and hijack our personal time to…to convince me to do something. I know that this business with the red Templars is deeply personal for you, and I know it’s important, but I guess I have to ask you to trust that I’m doing the right thing.”

Cullen had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d acted like an ass, and she’d done a perfectly eloquent job of explaining that. He looked down at his desk. 

“You are right, Inquisitor. What I did was very unworthy.” 

“You were right, too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. I should have explained all this earlier, instead of avoiding the problem completely.” 

Katria walked over and rested against his desk. “Do you think we can manage this?” She pulled at one of the clasps on her shirt, frowning slightly. “I mean, we have to, right? I can’t…do this without you.” 

“I will do better,” he whispered. He knew he sounded utterly dejected; it was certainly how he felt. 

“Cullen.” 

Katria’s voice made him look up, and she took his hand and led him away from his desk. “I do not feel any differently about you. I care about you, and nothing that ever happens with the Inquisition will change that.”

“Yes,” he said hastily, thinking that’s what he should be saying to _her_. “I-I feel the same way.”

She smiled at him, and all the words he thought to say melted from his mind. Katria slid her arms around his neck and kissed him briefly. 

“I don’t suppose I could lure you away to have dinner with me?” 

He had a meeting in ten minutes. Adamant business. He’d never wanted to shirk his duties more badly in his life. 

“I, uh…” 

Katria shook her head. “It’s alright if you can’t, I understand.”

Cullen pulled her back against him and took her mouth in a more urgent kiss, clenching the fabric of her shirt in his hands. She broke away from him and giggled. 

“You pick the oddest places to show affection, Commander.” 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, blushing. “It’s just that I…” He sighed. No words, again. Nothing was going to encapsulate how desperately happy she made him, how he felt whenever he saw her face, her wry smile. Cullen rested his forehead against hers. “I acted like a fool this afternoon.” 

“So did I,” she said, putting her hands on his face. “We’ve apologized, and it’s alright now, so instead of continuing to ask for forgiveness, please use your mouth for something else.”

Cullen balked, a deep crimson color washing over his face. He was probably having more inappropriate thoughts than she intended. 

“Why have you decided to flirt with me _more_ now?” he murmured. 

“Because I can get away with it,” she said, grinning. “Before, I was afraid you’d run away screaming.” She paused and bit her lip. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. I…I do at times fear that perhaps I’m not what you’re looking for. That I’m coming on too strong?” 

Cullen met her gaze. “No! No, you’re not. Not at all.” He leaned closer. “There is likely nothing you could do I would consider as…coming on too strong.” 

Her eyebrow rose. “Is that so?” 

He expected her to pull him closer, but Katria instead smiled wanly and stepped away from him. The door across from them flew open, and a soldier appeared.

“Update from the Emprise du Lion, ser.” 

Cullen frowned, accepted the report, and the scout hurried away. Although there was plenty of space between them, most of his soldiers froze whenever they entered his office and the Inquisitor was around. Gossip spread _very_ quickly through the barracks, apparently.

“You have excellent hearing,” Cullen remarked as he scanned the letter.

“I do,” she said. Katria put her hand over the report, blocking his view of it. He looked up at her and she smiled. “I guess I should let you get back to work, Commander.”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “Bye, Inquisitor.” 

Katria kissed his cheek and left. He put the report back on the desk as he circled it to sit in his chair. When she had smiled at him the last time, he had thought about telling her he loved her. Because maybe he did. Possibly. At least a little. And he needed to actually convey that to her instead of fumbling around like he normally did. Since words normally were not his friend, perhaps doing something to show these feelings would be more effective.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Katria was training just before dawn with Heir—they’d been at it since the early hours of the morning. She figured becoming a better assassin was a more productive use of her time than laying in her bed and not sleeping. Heir preferred to make her train at night when the light from the torches only afforded her some visibility. Normally, her trainer was very complimentary of her, or at least she used vague, Cole-like phrases that seemed to _imply_ Katria was good at this assassin business. But this morning, the past few days even, Katria had been losing grip on her focus, and she knew it. Her thoughts jumbled together, her normally battle-clear mind cluttered by the things going on around her. 

“You lack intent,” Heir said, in her quiet, toneless voice. She was barely visible in the shadows. 

“Among other things,” Katria said, as she dragged her sleeve across her brow. 

Heir stepped forward. “You will try again tomorrow. You will be serious. Better.” 

She just nodded in response, and watched the small woman disappear into the courtyard. Katria moved her hands to her hips and stood trying to catch her breath until she heard footsteps. 

“Oh, Inquisitor, uh…” 

She turned around and saw Cullen standing near the stairs. Her brow creased. “Did you need something?” 

“Yes. I mean, no! I…” He rubbed his neck. “Sorry, let me try that again. I have a question.” 

Katria dropped her arms and walked over to him. “Go ahead.” 

“We have some dealings in Ferelden,” he explained. “I was hoping you might accompany me. When you can spare the time, of course.” 

“Is something wrong?” she asked. 

“What? No,” he said hastily. “I-I would rather explain there, if you wish to go.” 

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever you need.” 

Cullen smiled slightly. “I will make the necessary arrangements.” He stopped and studied her. “How long have you been out here? Did you sleep at all?” 

“I slept,” she said, shrugging. She gestured behind her. “Heir prefers to practice in dim light because it’s mysterious and difficult, I guess.” 

Cullen’s expression tightened—she knew he was not exactly thrilled that she was honing her skills around such a profession. Not that he had actually said that, but he’d called their dealings with assassins “ridiculous games” and tolerated them at best. 

Katria looked down at herself. “I should go wash up. Heir works me hard enough that I sweat profusely even though we’re in the middle of the fucking mountains.” She squeezed his arm as she passed him. “I look forward to these dealings in Ferelden, Commander.” 

He blushed. “Ah…yes, me too.” 

Cullen’s necessary arrangements were made very quickly, which Katria decided to take as an indication that he was excited to go with her to…wherever they were going. She waited outside the portcullis for him in the early morning the next day, her foot making muffled taps in the dirt. A stable hand brought Cullen’s horse around as he approached her. 

She was wearing her old brown jacket instead of her cloak, and she soothed down the collar. “Think you’ll survive outside Skyhold today?” 

“I will be fine,” he assured her, grinning. “I am…um, I’m really looking forward to…” 

Katria bit her lip. “About _that_.” 

A voice called out from behind them. “Hey, Boss, you seen Dorian? Wasn’t at breakfast, and I thought he was coming with us.” 

She turned and waved to Bull. “He’s in the wine cellar, I imagine. He’ll be here soon.” Katria turned sheepishly back to Cullen. “We…might be less alone during this trip than originally planned. I am going to head with them to the Hinterlands to deal with some reported Venatori activity Dorian is eager to interfere with. We’ll split from them eventually, and I’ll accompany you, then you can return to Skyhold while I catch up.” 

“Oh.” 

She winced. “I’m sorry if this is disappointing, I-,”

Cullen hastily shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We both live our lives in service of the Inquisition, and I should have not expected to have you all to myself for so long.” He cleared his throat. “As much as I would have perhaps wanted that.” 

Katria smiled. “Thank you, Cullen.” She then grimaced. “I should warn you that…well, everyone gets rather _spirited_ on the road. Be prepared for a fair amount of ribbing.”

Iron Bull approached them, along with Cass and Varric. He smacked Katria on the shoulder so hard she stumbled forward. “Glad to see you up and about after drinks last night!” 

Katria shook her head. “It wasn’t easy. I don’t see how you’re even functioning after all that Marass-Lok you drank. I’m convinced it’s pure poison.”

“It’s a good, strong liquor,” he said. “Could have really put some chest on your chest.” 

“I’m sure Curly would have liked to see that,” Varric said, smirking. 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and spun on her heel to retrieve her horse. Cullen’s face was red. “You really weren’t kidding about the teasing, were you?” he muttered.

Katria squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Consider yourself forewarned.” She looked up at the stairs leading to the Great Hall. “Let’s hurry and get out of here. I worry Josephine will see me in this jacket and bar me from leaving Skyhold.” 

They mounted their horses after Dorian rushed over with a bag of what could only be wine. He, too, had a thinly-veiled, lewd comment about Cullen’s presence that earned him a laugh from Varric and Bull. 

They made their way out of the Frostbacks and into Ferelden, moving at a fairly rapid clip. Katria loved her friends, but she was eager to get to the point where they’d trot off towards the Hinterlands and she’d get to be with Cullen. He was quiet during their journey, hopefully letting the ludicrous nature of their conversations wash over him. 

“Hey, Cat,” Varric eventually said. “You going to tell me all about your romantic retreat when you get back? Probably would look great in my book—I’ll add some punchy jokes, it’ll be some comic relief from our fight against Corypheus.” 

Katria laughed. “I’ve read _Swords and Shields_. And although you might have certain fans in the Inquisition…” She looked pointedly at Cassandra. “I think you should stick to your strengths—espionage, violence, mystery, bad guys. Not romance.”

“Are you gonna write me into your story?” Bull asked, pulling up beside the dwarf.

Varric grinned. “How could I not?” 

“When you do, make sure you describe the musculature right.” He gestured to his bare chest. “Cause this isn’t just endurance work. There was a lot of strength training to get here. You want to use words like rippling or ripped.”

Varric scratched his stubble thoughtfully. “The Iron Bull’s belly was prone to rippling after every meal. He rarely wore shirts as they ripped under the strain.”

“That hurts, Varric. That’s hurtful.” 

They were coming up on the crest of a hill. The snow from the mountains was beginning to melt away and left behind brown and green patches of grass. There was a small lake close by. 

“We’ll stop up there for a bit,” Katria said, pulling on the reins on her horse. “Let Bull wash away his tears before anyone sees.” 

They reached the water and stretched their legs—afterwards Dorian and Bull sat down to rummage through their bags for food and wine. Bull had quite the appetite, and Dorian claimed that the rustic charm of Ferelden always made him particularly thirsty. Katria walked over to the edge of the lake and gathered up some stones in her hand. Cassandra walked over to stand beside her and took one from her. 

“I bet you’ll get five this time,” Katria said. 

“You think so?” Cassandra brought her arm back and tossed the rock towards the water. It skipped twice and then disappeared from their view with a _thunk_. 

“You didn’t follow through,” Katria said, as she threw one herself. It made about six or seven jumps before sinking. “Really use your wrist.” 

Cassandra found another rock, sliding the smooth edge along her palm. “I assume Cullen does not like being teased like this. Must be distracting.”

Katria shrugged. “I imagine.” She paused and furrowed her brow. She and Cass hadn’t really spoken much about her and Cullen. Despite the incessant ribbing Katria got, she hadn’t actually given anyone specific details on what was going on between them. 

“You think what’s happening between me and Cullen is a distraction?” 

Cassandra tossed her stone. “At first, I thought it was a terrible idea. We have all been called by the Maker to serve, and with Cullen being one of your advisors, well, I thought it imprudent.” 

Katria scrunched her lips up on one side of her face. She had expected that. “Has your opinion changed?” 

The Seeker was quiet for a moment. “It has. I thought it would keep you from performing your duty as Inquisitor, but you’ve proven otherwise.” 

“Have I?” Katria said. 

“Absolutely,” she replied. “I may not always agree with your decisions, but how many could do what you have done?” Cassandra looked over at her. “You were a prisoner, accused and reviled, yet you’ve emerged from every trial victorious.” 

“I did not do any of that alone,” Katria countered. 

“You say that often, but even the actions of others in the Inquisition are a credit to your leadership,” Cassandra said, looking out past the still water of the lake. “It makes me proud to know you.” 

She gave a throaty laugh. “Does it really?” 

Cassandra smiled. “Well, when we first met, if someone told me I would be pleased to have you lead me, I would have throttled them.” 

“I would have helped you,” Katria said. “It would have been something we could agree on.” 

“You have proven to be far different than my initial impression of you,” she said. “More responsible, intelligent, caring.” 

“Much, much funnier also.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I am glad for you, Katria.” She cleared her throat. “And that business with Cullen does seem fairly…romantic, so if you want to discuss such things, I would not be opposed to it.” 

Katria tossed her last rock in the water. “Seeker Pentaghast asking for the sordid details of my relationship—I never thought I would live to see the day. Maybe you could give me some pointers from all those books you’ve read.”

Cassandra snorted, and they made their way back to the horses. It was another few hours before Cullen and Katria were _finally_ able to break away from them and head south, while the others headed for the Crossroads in the Hinterlands, where Katria would meet up with them eventually. 

“We have some soldiers stationed in Honnleath,” Cullen said. “I want them to accompany you to the Hinterlands. You can’t travel alone.” 

“I certainly _can_ travel alone,” Katria said. “It is my preference to do so. You are simply too over-protective.” 

“You’re the Inquisitor, and you have to be safe,” Cullen insisted. 

“That’s very sweet,” she said. “But also incredibly annoying.” 

They traveled for another hour, and she let Cullen lead, until they reached a secluded lake. The weather was overcast, but it was still warmer than it had been in the mountains. Cullen motioned her over to a small dock that jutted out into the murky water. 

“Where are we?” she asked. 

“At a pond?” 

Katria swatted the spot on his arm between his armor. They reached the end of the dock and Cullen leaned against the wooden support beside him, grinning. 

“You walk into danger every day,” he said. “I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment.” Cullen gestured past the lake. “I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.” 

“Did you come here often?” Katria asked. 

“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud,” Cullen explained. “I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually.” 

Katria pulled her braid over her shoulder. “You were happy here?” 

“I was,” he said. He took her hand and squeezed it. “I still am.” 

She smirked. “How will you survive without a parade of messengers and war reports?” 

“I should be able to last the day,” he said, standing up. “Besides, I told Leliana to send word if-,” 

“Cullen, mention work again, and I shove you in the pond. Jacket and all.”

He blushed. “Right, of course. Sorry.” 

Katria leaned against him briefly and he squeezed her across the shoulders. 

“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training.” Cullen lifted his arm from her and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small silver coin. “My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.” He closed his fist around it. “Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “You broke the Order’s rules? I’m shocked.” 

He shook his head. “Until a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me.” Cullen peeked at her from under his lashes, then held the coin out to her. “Humor me,” he said. “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

“I…” Katria felt him put the coin in her palm and close her fingers around it. She felt jittery—or maybe that wasn’t the right word. Her face was hot, and she looked down at the crooked planks of wood under their feet. This hadn’t happened in a very long time. Someone giving her something sentimental. Important. 

“I-I’ll keep it safe,” she murmured, bringing her fist to her chest. 

Cullen put his hand against her cheek. “Good,” he said. “I know it’s foolish…but I’m glad.” 

He lifted his face to hers and kissed her. It was overwhelmingly…romantic. If Cassandra were here, she would probably applaud. Katria separated from him and tucked the coin into the pocket of her jacket. 

“Why are you so concerned about me having luck on my side?” she asked. “I can get myself out of trouble.” 

“Yes, but you’re also rather good at getting _into_ it as well,” he said. “I’ve read the reports on your adventures.” 

Katria reached into her jacket and pulled out her knife, running her fingers along the handle. Fredrick had given her a sentimental gift once too, his prized possession, and then he’d died, and it was all she had left. 

“Have I upset you?” Cullen asked.

She looked up, brow furrowed. “What?” 

He gestured to her knife. “You hold that often. For comfort when you seem distressed. I hope you aren’t…” 

“I didn’t realize I was so transparent,” she said, tucking it back into her belt. 

“Not as…much as you would think,” Cullen said, his eyes searching her face. His comment was hinting at something else, she knew that, but didn’t want to talk about it.

Katria looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. She cleared her throat. 

“Blood lotus!” 

“What?” 

She left the dock and crouched down by the bank of the pond. She began yanking out stems of the blood lotus flowers growing between bright green lilly-pads. “You can never have enough blood lotus.” 

She stood. Cullen was looking at her like she was a little insane. Which she was. Or at least, she hadn’t slept well in weeks, and every time she walked in the War Room she felt like everything was spinning out of her control. That would make anyone act oddly. Or her, it would make _her_ act oddly because she needed a distraction.

Katria swallowed and looked at her fistfuls of herbs. “I’m sorry. I really like your gift, and I really like you.” She lowered her arms. “That sounded juvenile. I am flattered that you would give something like that to me, and to be honest, the intensity of my feelings for you…” She exhaled. “I should go put these in my bags.” 

Katria hurried to the horses that they had secured in an alcove of trees. She flipped open the flap of her bag and began rummaging through it. 

Cullen wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her up. “I feel the same way,” he told her. 

“About the utility of blood lotus?” she asked sheepishly.

“Maker, you’re insufferable.”

Cullen abruptly crushed her against him and kissed her, hard. Katria wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her wet hand in his hair. This was better than talking. And they were, probably for the first time, utterly alone, which only made her more urgently press herself against him. His hands slid underneath her shirt after a few minutes, and she pulled away from him. 

“How could you enjoy this with gloves on?” 

He blinked. “That’s…” He stepped back and yanked his gloves off in a hurried motion. They dropped to the ground beside him. He found her lips again and tugged at the clasps of her shirt until they opened. His hand was cold as it ran along the scar on her side she’d gotten from escaping Haven. His fingers moved higher, and her breath hitched, before she was yanked out of her haze by the frustration of not being able to feel any of his skin against hers. She pulled away from him slightly, so he trailed kisses along her neck. 

“What about the rest of your armor?” she whispered, clenching the fur of his coat. “I’ve had plenty of hurried fucks in the forest but-,”

Cullen stopped what he was doing. “I did not need to hear that.” 

She had been too crass, as usual. Perhaps hurried trysts would have been better phrasing?

“ _But_ I am assuming that’s not what you want now,” she finished. As much as Katria wanted to tear off and carelessly throw aside every piece of clothing on him, she had assumed that their first night together would be indoors—not on the ground, and only a few feet away from a cherished childhood retreat of his. 

He sighed; she could feel his breath against the crook of her neck. Cullen leaned back to look at her. “I suppose not.”

She quickly refastened the part of her shirt he'd managed to get undone. “We should return to town.” 

His palms slid up to her cheeks. The light around them was dimming, but Katria could clearly see the concern in his face. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling the sides of her jacket across her stomach. Cullen dropped his hands after a few moments, but looked unconvinced. 

They rode back to town, and Cullen assigned entirely too many Inquisition soldiers to the task of escorting her to the Hinterlands. He was taking the rest of the unit with him back to Skyhold. Once his soldiers were around, it was no longer possible to maintain any level of affection. He approached her once their supplies had been replenished, and she was readying herself to leave.

“Have a safe journey, Inquisitor.” 

Katria turned to him and smiled. “I will. I’m quite sorry I have to leave you.” Her eyes roamed over his handsome face, his broad shoulders. “Really, really sorry.” 

Cullen blushed and cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, as am I.” 

She slid her hand into the pocket where his coin was kept. “Thank you, for this, Cullen. It was very nice and incredibly thoughtful, and I’m sure Cassandra will agree when I tell her about it. She’s the expert on romance, not me.”

Katria put her hand on his arm as she passed him with her horse. She approached the rest of her men, and waved to Cullen before she rode off. He waved back to her. Katria wished she had been better at conveying how much this all meant to her. He made her feel such raw, genuine emotions that were so unfamiliar it was hard to think straight. She wanted to stay at that dock forever, to sit down and cling to it, close her eyes and pretend nothing else existed in the world. But that’s what she did about _everything_ , and it was starting to wear on her, she knew that. Her insistence to everyone that she was fine wasn’t going to work for much longer, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably going to take a few days to put together the next set of chapters, which will constitute my attempt at Adamant Fortress (replete with canon divergence, of course!). Thank ya'll for all your support!!


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things. Fair warning, I guess “angst” is something that would apply to these chapters? I can’t say that’s my favorite word to represent what happens, but suffice to say this is a little less fun than previous chapters. My motivation for canon-divergence in this part of the story was centered on the idea that Katria would, unfortunately, be a prime candidate for being deeply affected by what the Nightmare might be capable of (because burying one’s emotions can only work for so long!). So, I just cranked the Fade up a few notches from green hues and spiders to some things that would actually be scary to her. Some of the scenes are from Cassandra’s POV, also. I’m going to stop talking now.

Cullen began marching the Inquisition’s troops to Adamant before the Inquisitor returned from the Hinterlands. She met them in the Western Approach with the rest of her party just a few days before they were to begin their assault. Cullen hardly had any contact with her other than discussing their strategy for the attack, as he spent most of his time preparing the troops and readying the siege engines. 

Only a few hours before sunrise, Cullen was making final preparations and returned to his tent to gather some reports. When he opened the flap of his tent, he saw Katria leaned over his desk. She had pulled out Leliana’s blueprints of Adamant Fortress. 

“I thought you had gone to sleep hours ago,” Cullen said as he approached her. 

Katria looked up at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I shouldn’t have expected to be able to sleep.” She spread her hands across the map. “Explain the plan again.” 

He walked around the desk so he was standing beside her. “We’ve gone over this many times, Inquisitor. You know what will happen.” 

She sighed exasperatedly. “But are we sure it will work?” 

“Our trebuchets will do major damage to the older exterior walls, and we have identified choke points to limit the field of battle.”

Katria put her hand on her temple. “If most of the Wardens already have their demons…” 

“We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel,” Cullen said. 

“That will not be easy,” she replied, frowning. 

“It’ll be hard-fought. No way around it,” he admitted, touching her shoulder. “But we will get that gate open.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, thank you. You’ve done excellent work, Commander.” 

“We will see about that.” 

She put her palms back on his desk and sighed. “It will work. It has to.” 

Cullen put his hands on his sword. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said reflexively. 

“I’ve…” Cullen cleared his throat. “Promise that you’ll be careful. We don’t know what Clarel or Erimond are capable of.”

She pursed her lips. “You still have little faith in my skills, I see.” 

He grabbed her arm, probably too firmly. “It’s _not_ that, Katria. If anything happened to you-,” 

“The Inquisition would lose its Herald and with it our ability to close rifts,” she said, shaking her head. “I know.” 

Cullen pulled her towards him. “That isn’t what I was going to say.” 

She looked up at him, her eyes dim in the torchlight. “What, then?”

“I…” He reached up and gently touched the scar on her cheek. His fingers were trembling, so he brought them to his side. “I want you to know that I-,”

Someone rushed into the tent. “Commander, there’s a problem with one of the trebuchets.” 

Katria stepped back, grabbing her elbow with her other hand. Cullen looked up at who had entered—Rylen. He’d come himself, so it was likely an urgent issue. 

Cullen frowned. “I will be there in-,” 

“You need to go now,” Katria said. 

He looked back at her. “Yes, Inquisitor.” 

Cullen threw a look at Rylen, who took two steps backwards out of the tent. His shadow was still visible through the canvas. Cullen slid his hand along Katria’s neck and kissed her. “Be safe,” he whispered before stepping away and hurrying out into the darkness. 

Cullen followed Rylen through the camp. He only let his mind linger on the tent for a few moments. He would tell Katria he loved her after the battle. _When_ he saw her again, because he definitely would, he’d say it. 

=== 

She was falling, falling far—farther than she should have, farther than the ground. And then she hit something hard, water splashing around her, pain shooting through her back.

Cassandra immediately rolled to her side and pushed herself to her feet. She dove for her sword and shield, shaking the water off them, and stood ready. Wherever they were, it was not good. It wasn’t safe. Her eyes scanned the area—everything around her, the rocky crags and the puddles of water, were an eerie shade of green. The air was heavy and smelled like sulfur. 

“Where are we?” Stroud asked, staggering around beside her. 

“Is this…are we dead?” Hawke shook his head. “If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.” 

“No,” Stroud said, craning his neck to look up at the mottled green sky. “The Inquisitor used the mark to open another rift. We fell through. I believe we are in the Fade.”

The Fade? Cassandra felt her knees weaken as a wave of terror hit her. Physically in the Fade. Like the magisters of old—the magisters who _started_ the Blight, who created darkspawn. She clenched her hand tightly around her sword. She had to focus. If they were truly in the Fade, then they had to escape. 

Cassandra lifted her head and looked for the Inquisitor. Katria was in front of her, not facing her, and was kneeling in a puddle of water. Her daggers were scattered around her.

Dorian reached up and flicked some dirt off his armor. “The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before it attempted to possess me.” He looked around and grimaced. “Perhaps the difference is, we are here physically. This is no one’s dream.”

Hawke looked over at Katria, who was still crouching. “The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?” 

She lifted her head vaguely, her eyes flickering around. “I don’t remember what happened at Haven and I can’t…” She groaned and put her hand against her temple. “My head…” 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked, stepping forward. 

Katria pushed herself onto her feet. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can’t assume we’re safe now,” Hawke remarked. “That huge demon was on the other side of that rift Erimond was using, and there could be others.”

“In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby, in the main hall,” Stroud said. “Can we escape the same way?”

Katria bent over to pick up her daggers. “It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?” She turned and scanned them all. “Everyone okay? Let’s get moving.” 

Cassandra hurried towards her, so they were walking side by side. Katria rarely hung back in battle like she was supposed to, and Cassandra imagined in the Fade it would be no different. 

“Is this really what it’s like when you dream?” Varric asked from behind them. “How do you people ever sleep?” He snorted. “Remember last time we ended up in the Fade, Hawke?”

“Oh, how could I forget?” the Champion began sarcastically. “My closest friends showed such loyalty in the face of the demon’s temptations.”

“Well, we got better,” Varric said. “Sort of.” 

They walked underneath a stone arch, and Cassandra looked in awe at the massive rock structures around them. The Breach was visible high in the sky, swirling above their heads. 

“Imagine it,” Cassandra said. “To walk in the Fade and survive…” 

“We haven’t survived yet,” Katria muttered from beside her.

They climbed a set of steps to a rocky outcrop. In front of them, a figure in white was a sharp contrast to the dark tones and fog around them. As they got closer, Cassandra recognized the cut of the white fabric, the red trim, the gold inlay….

Stroud sucked in a breath beside her. “By the Maker, could that be…?” 

Cassandra’s hands fell to her side. It couldn’t be. It simply wasn’t possible. 

The figure spoke, its voice calm. “I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion.”

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra choked out. “Most Holy?” 

The woman smiled slightly. “Cassandra.”

She hung back as Katria stepped forward, her head tilted. 

Katria turned to her with a concerned look. “Cass, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?” 

“I…I don’t know,” she replied, her mouth slightly ajar. “It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but…we know the spirits lie.” Her face hardened. “Be wary, Inquisitor.” 

Stroud nodded. “I fear the Divine is indeed dead. It is likely we face a spirit…or a demon.” 

The spirit—Divine Justinia, whatever it was—folded her hands together. “You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Really?” Hawke began incredulously. “How hard is it to answer one question? I am a human and you are…” 

“I am here to help you,” she replied. 

Katria just snorted.

“You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor,” Divine Justinia said, turning her gaze to her. 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Did you take my memories?” 

“No. You lost them to the demon that serves Corypheus,” she explained. “It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

Stroud stiffened. “I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren.”

“You will have your chance, brave Warden,” she said. “This place of darkness is its lair.”

“Of course it is,” Katria muttered, but then winced, her hand shooting up to her head. 

“The Nightmare serves willingly because Corypheus has brought much terror to this world,” Justinia began, unfolding her hands. “Every child’s cry as the Archdemon circles, every dwarf’s whimper in the Deep Roads…the Nightmare has fed well.” 

“Wait,” Katria said, raising her hand. “Is this that big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?”

“Yes.”

“It’s…nearby?” 

“Yes.”

Katria dropped her hand. “Well, shit.” She looked around to the rest of them. “We need to get out of here. Now.” 

Justinia stepped forward. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.” She stretched her hand out past them. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.” 

Bright flashes of green burst out from the darkness, taking the form of wraiths that sent green balls of energy flying towards them. Katria ducked beside Cassandra as she lifted her shield. 

“I don’t really remember my memories trying to _kill_ me before!” she exclaimed. 

“I think we should do what this spirit asks,” Cassandra said. “At least for now.” 

“Agreed,” she said, spinning out from behind the shield and burying her dagger into a wraith. They made easy work of the spirits, who disintegrated into crackling green sparks of energy that Katria could interact with using her mark.

The Inquisitor gave an abrupt cry of pain, her daggers clattering to the ground as she clenched her fingers against her temple. Cassandra could feel some form of magic pulsing around Katria before it exploded. 

They could all see the memory. It appeared before them, floating, sheer and hazy but still discernable. She saw Divine Justinia, Corypheus with his orb, and the Wardens restraining her—until the ever-curious Katria appeared. The orb was knocked from Corypheus’ grasp, and Katria…touched it, with her hand, right where her mark was now. The memory melted away, and the Inquisitor lifted her head. 

Stroud spoke first. “So, your mark did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.” 

Katria still looked slightly dazed. “I...I wasn’t chosen.”

Justinia was standing near them. “Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors to the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the mark upon you instead.”

“So this was, what, another freak accident?” Katria demanded angrily. “A random ricochet in the middle of a fight?”

“And if it was?” she asked simply.

“If it was, then neither the Maker nor Andraste were in any way involved in this!” Katria shook her head. “I’m just…”

“If you believe in the Maker, then you believe He made this world and everything in it, including your accident. And if you do not, nothing has changed.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” Katria said. “And I thought getting my memories back would help.”

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you,” Justinia said. “You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here.” 

“What is it going to do?” she asked. 

Justinia’s brow creased in a look of pity, or despair. “This ground is more treacherous than you know, Inquisitor. Corypheus is your enemy, and the Nightmare will want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not afraid of fighting demons,” Katria said. 

“Maybe not, but if you fear something, the Nightmare knows what it is.” 

Her expression faltered—a flash of terror across her face, realization, before it disappeared. “Will it go after all of us?” 

Justinia shook her head. “You have the mark. Your fear is valuable to it, valuable to Corypheus. Most people avoid their fears. It is simple for the demon to steal the darkest fragments. You forget, and it feeds.”

Katria swallowed. “We should get out of here. Quickly.” 

“I will prepare the way ahead,” Justinia said. Cassandra blinked, and she had disappeared. 

The Inquisitor was reclaiming her daggers, her jaw clenched. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Cassandra asked. She was quite worried for her—in all the months they’d traveled together, in the friendship they made, Cassandra had learned how Katria operated. For all her talk, for all her warmth, she was never willing to discuss any personal turmoil she had. Sure, she’d admit to being overwhelmed, busy, uncomfortable with the adoration of the masses, but there was nothing past that. In the last few months, she’d been especially guarded about such things. But she couldn’t guard herself against this demon—it would see everything, and if she wasn’t ready to face it, then they might be in trouble. 

“I’ll…be fine,” Katria said. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I wish we were back in the Western Approach.” 

Dorian snorted. “Yes, a blighted desert does seem like paradise compared to this, doesn’t it?” 

Cassandra’s eyes were still fixed where the spirit, or Justinia, once stood. “Could that truly have been the Most Holy?”

“I have no idea,” Dorian replied. “If it’s a spirit, it’s not acting like one. No demon would have been so helpful without asking for something in return.”

Katria spun her dagger around her hand and motioned them forward up a narrow flight of stairs. They reached another flat plain of rock when a voice rang out, echoing through the vast expanse of the Fade, making the stones beneath their feet vibrate.

“Ah, we have a visitor.” 

Cassandra spun around, searching the sky and the area around them for some demon. There was none. The voice continued to speak. 

“Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten.”

“This is going to get tiresome quickly,” Hawke remarked sourly. 

There was a tall, gold plated mirror in front of them, tarnished and cracked all along the center. Katria approached it and gave a strangled scream, before spinning away and covering her eyes. 

“Fuck, fuck, no, please, no….” 

The Nightmare laughed. “You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”

“This is some kind of hospitality,” Varric drawled, hiking Bianca up on his shoulder.

“Would you knock it off, dwarf?” Cassandra snapped. She put her hand on Katria’s arm, but she shook off her grasp. 

“Sorry, I-I’m fine. Just…don’t look in the mirrors. You won’t see yourself.” 

“That won’t be the end of it, either,” Dorian said, switching his staff to his other hand. “I’m sure this Nightmare will do anything in its power to weaken our resolve.” 

“We must keep moving,” Cassandra said firmly. She took Katria by the arm and led her away from the mirror. 

“Cass…” she began weakly. “I don’t think I can do this…” 

Cassandra kept walking. 

“I am sorry, Inquisitor, but I don’t think we have choice.” 

===

Katria _had_ seen herself in the mirror. She hadn’t recognized it at first, the small girl staring up at her in her reflection, because she had rarely looked in mirrors at that time in her life. She hated mirrors then. But it did not take long to figure out. The girl had tattered clothes that were once of high-quality, mangled brown hair, and a fresh gash across her cheek. Her face was streaked with ash and blood. The little girl was her from more than twenty years ago. It is what she looked like while wandering the forest until she was found and forced to explain why her brother was dead. 

As they walked through the Nightmare’s lair, the little girl did not stay in the mirror. Katria saw her at the corners of her vision, flitting around in the murky green light, darting between the rock spires.

She froze in place as a voice drifted through the air. It was not like the Nightmare’s loud, echoing boom; it was softer, but still plainly audible. 

_“Why did you bother coming back? Why didn’t they kill you instead?”_

Katria groaned and covered her ears. Her father’s voice, of course. 

She felt a hand on her arm, and she stumbled forward, letting herself get dragged through the water. Her head was killing her. The pain had started when they entered the Fade, and it hadn’t stopped. 

_“Katria! Katria, please!”_

Not her father this time. Fredrick. She whimpered and stopped moving. 

“Is anyone else hearing this?” she demanded. 

“Hearing what, Cat?” Varric asked from beside her. 

“The voices!” 

Their heavy silence gave her the answer to that question. 

“Just _splendid_ ,” she snapped. 

Katria continued to get tugged along. She kept her eyes on the ground, watching the greenish water shimmer and ripple as her feet moved through it. 

“Watch out!” 

She jerked her head up just in time to hear the skittering of spider’s legs along the walls and their shrill squeaks, as they blocked the narrow passage in front of them. Katria dove her dagger into one’s head. Spiders were good. Spiders were fine. Well, spiders were _terrifying_ , but they died when you stabbed them, and it distracted Katria from…from everything else. 

Divine Justinia was ahead, in a clearing with more of Katria’s memories. She halted. She didn’t want them back, she didn’t want any of this.

“The Nightmare is closer now,” Justinia said. “It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger.” 

“Stronger how?” Cassandra asked. 

Justinia did not reply, only grimaced. 

Katria went to collect the memories. When she reached out her marked hand, it trembled. 

_“You are a glib, immature and foolish menace to this Inquisition!”_

She ignored Cullen’s voice, moved to the next memory. Once she collected them, pain ripped through her skull again, and she groaned. 

This memory was in the Fade. Katria saw herself, the back of her weathered brown jacket, as she climbed up a steep precipice. Divine Justinia, the real one, was there. They were being pursued by spiders. Justinia urged her through the rift and stayed behind to die. 

The memory faded away, but the pain did not. Katria lifted her head from her hands. 

“It was you,” she said shakily. “Not Andraste—you were behind me in the rift.” 

“Yes,” Justinia said, but then, she wasn’t Justinia anymore. Katria covered her eyes as a gold light began to grow from her, and the spirit returned to its original form. 

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” the spirit said. 

“Did you linger here to help me, instead of passing on?” Katria asked, squinting up at it. 

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one,” it replied. Katria was tired of hearing that response. 

“What we do know is that the mortal divine perished at the Temple. Thanks to the Grey Wardens,” Hawke said, scowling.

Stroud turned to him. “As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant.”

“Assuming that the Wardens and their demon army didn’t destroy the Inquisition while we were gone,” Hawke sneered. 

Katria’s stomach clenched at the idea—that Cullen, her men, might still be fighting while she was stuck here. She tried to bury the thought. She would not be more afraid. 

“How dare you judge us?” Stroud began angrily. “You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!” 

Hawke stepped closer to him. “To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic! But you’d ignore that, because you can’t imagine a world without the Wardens, even if that’s what we need!”

Katria dropped her hands. “For fuck’s sake, would both of you please _shut up_?” she snarled. “We can argue once we’ve escaped from the giant fear demon!” 

Both their brows rose in surprise at her outburst, until their eyes shifted behind her. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Katria spun around as more spiders dropped down from above them. She readied her daggers, spinning out of the way as one reared up and bared its fangs at her. She threw a knife into its stomach and reached for another before a searing pain erupted between her eyes. She collapsed into the rock beside her. 

When Katria looked up, she saw Cullen. He was there. He was _right there_. Not in his armor, just his red shirt and trousers and boots, holding his sword in two hands. His expression was angry, set with a determination centered on her.

_It’s not real. It’s not him. Only a demon_ , she told herself. He swung at her with his sword, and Katria fell backwards onto the ground. 

“Wait!” she exclaimed, as he brought his sword down over her. Katria barely rolled out of the way in time. She used her momentum to push herself up. He came at her again and without thinking—without _realizing_ —her dagger lodged itself in his chest. Cullen froze, letting out a strangled gasp, his brown eyes blank, but looking at her, before he fell forward. His body hit the ground and disintegrated into ash. 

Katria screamed. She screamed so loud Cassandra sprinted over, dropping her sword and shield and holding her from the side. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Didn’t you see?” Katria could hardly breath, panic was gripping her throat, choking her. “Didn’t you _see him_?” 

“See who?” Cassandra asked. “It was a demon, Katria. You were fighting a demon. That’s what we saw.” 

Her knees buckled, and she felt herself being slowly lowered to the ground. She covered her eyes. “No, no, no.” 

_“You are no Trevelyan. You are a bastard, a monster! Get out of my sight!”_

_“Katria, no! Help me!”_

_“This is for your own good, child. You don’t want to be a mage, do you?”_

She began to hear more voices—they overlapped one another, the words indiscernible, just a chorus of sounds that reminded her of things she long tried to forget. The orders from the Templars who tried to ‘fix’ her, her father’s words when he found out about Fredrick’s death, the voice of the sleazy barkeep in Ferelden who, as she teetered on the verge of starvation, offered to feed her in exchange for sleeping with him, the cries of the people she’d killed with her own hands…

There was water on her face, she was crying, and Cassandra was shaking her urgently. 

“Please Inquisitor! None of this is real! You must focus!”

“You’re not helping her like that!” another voice snapped.

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” the Seeker demanded. 

Maker, not _more_ arguing. 

Katria stood on shaking knees, her hands still covering her face. She slowly removed them. They had to get out of here. Now. She couldn’t do this much longer. 

The little girl shot through her line of sight again. Katria groaned and broke into a sprint. 

“Inquisitor, wait!” 

She kept running. 

===

Cassandra sprinted after the Inquisitor with all the strength she had left. Katria was unwell; she was slowly unraveling, hearing voices, seeing things that the rest of them couldn’t. The Nightmare was relentless, it seemed. 

Katria reached a set of stairs that led above and below her. She took the upper steps, rushing up them two at a time. Cassandra was closer to her now. Katria skidded to a stop once she reached the rocky cliff. 

Cassandra paused at the crest of the stairs. A pride demon, massive, scaly, with electricity shooting from its fingers, was ambling towards them. It lifted its clawed hand up, a ball of energy growing in its palm. 

“Look out!” 

Katria jumped in front of the demon, the electricity slamming into her and sending her flying into the stone wall behind her. She collapsed in a smoking heap on the ground. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra cried. The others had joined her on the stairs. “Hawke, help her! Everyone else, the demon!” 

Cassandra charged at the beast. She struck it along the leg before raising her shield as it swung down at her. Her knees buckled under the strain. Just as she readied herself to move in again, the stones beneath her feet began vibrating. A surge of magic pricked at her senses, a familiar feeling, and she staggered backwards as a green glowing light appeared over the demon. A deafening crack rang out and the demon was pulled backwards, green energy latching onto and consuming it. 

Cassandra turned and saw the Inquisitor fall sideways into Hawke’s arms. She hastily tried to push herself back up. Cassandra hurried over. 

“That was dangerous!” 

“My fault,” Katria choked out. “I led us to the demon, I kill it.” 

“Interesting logic you have there,” Dorian remarked, and Cassandra shot him an angry look. She pointed ahead of them—the rift was nearby. They were close to escaping. 

“Let’s go.” 

Katria kept hold of Cassandra’s arm as they ran down the steps towards the spirit of Divine Justinia. She stopped before the narrow stone passage before them. Katria faltered, putting her hand against the wall. 

They heard the Nightmare’s voice again. “It seems our visitor has forgotten one of her memories. It would be most rude of me not to return it to you.” 

“No!” Katria put her hands over her ears. The dark fog around them lifted and another memory materialized before them. It was clearer than the others. Cassandra could just make out the outline of trees around them. 

Katria whimpered and collapsed on her knees. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” a voice asked. A child was walking among the trees. She was dark-haired and pale, wearing an intricate blue coat and leather boots. Her eyes were large, her nose a little too big for her young face. Beside the girl was an older boy with brown eyes and neatly combed hair. He was holding tightly to her hand. 

“It will be alright, Katria. You have nothing to worry about.”

The two children were standing in a clearing of trees. Another man was there. He was tall and handsome. He gave them a disarming smile. 

“You made it! Excellent.” 

He knelt down in front of the young Katria and took her hand. “Your brother told me about you. I think I can help. Would that be alright?” 

She looked down bashfully, not meeting his gaze. She nodded. 

“Okay,” the man said. “First, could you show me a little bit of your magic?” 

Katria snatched her hand away. “No. No, it’s too dangerous.” 

“It will be alright,” he insisted gently. 

“I said no!” 

“You have nothing to be afraid of. I can-,” 

“I don’t want to!” Katria exclaimed, stamping her foot. Cassandra saw a flash of red—a stream of fire had shot from her hand. The man, an apostate, threw up a barrier, the flames curling around it. Katria shrieked and buried herself into her brother’s arms. 

“I-It’s okay,” he said, patting her head. “Don’t be scared. We’ll fix it.” 

The apostate lowered his shield, studying Katria with a curious expression. He pursed his lips. 

“Yes…it will be alright, little girl.” 

He motioned her forward. “Come here. Let’s get started. I can help you.” 

Katria looked up at her brother, who let her go and nudged her forward. 

The apostate knelt back down and gave a reassuring smile. This man was certainly charming. "I need your hand.” 

Katria reluctantly stretched out her palm to him. He held her by her arm and reached for something in his cloak. 

“Now,” he began. “This might hurt just a little, but I have to do it. You want to get better, don’t you?” 

“I don’t want to be a mage,” she muttered. “I don’t want to go to the Circle. I don’t want my father to hurt me.” 

The apostate was holding a knife. “It’s important you don’t panic. I need some of your blood. That’s how I’ll make the magic go away.”

Lies. Utter lies. Cassandra clenched her jaw at the little girl’s look of bewilderment. 

Her brother came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. In a fluid motion, the apostate slashed Katria deep, right through her palm. Right where her mark was now. Cassandra wondered if she had a scar there before the Anchor was placed in that same spot. 

The young Katria yelped, trying to take her hand back, but the apostate held tight to her arm. “Don’t panic,” he ordered. 

The apostate stood, his hand glowing red. There were a series of markings—some sort of rune— underneath their feet that flared up as blood poured from her hand. 

“Wait!” the girl exclaimed. “I don’t—I’m…” 

The memory dimmed as the young Katria collapsed on her knees. “Why are you in my head? Why can I hear you?” 

Around her, green light began to shimmer and flex—the Veil was weakening, Cassandra imagined. The apostate put his glowing hand to his staff and lifted it into the air. 

Katria’s brother had staggered backwards. “What are you doing? You’re hurting her!” 

“I changed my mind!” the girl wailed. “I can’t…I can’t…” 

The memory went completely white, the light burning Cassandra’s eyes. She lifted up her hand, but it had quickly faded. She heard the strangled, desperate cries of her brother and the apostate. It was horrifying. In the next moment, only the young Katria was visible. The area around her was completely blackened and soot covered her clothes. She was hunched over her knees, hands buried in her hair. As she looked up, blood streaked on her cheeks, her eyes widened. 

“F-Fredrick?” 

Cassandra looked away, as the girl continued to call out for her brother. The Inquisitor had told this story months ago, but seeing it was…difficult. The memory faded away as the little girl burst into racking sobs and ran further into the forest, her blue coat flapping behind her. 

The real Katria—the present one—was still huddled against the wall.

“Well, shit,” Hawke said. “That was…” 

Varric crept over to Katria and put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Cat, it’s going to be okay. We’re on our way out. It wasn’t real.” 

“It _was_ real!” she snapped. “It happened and it was my fault!” 

“Alright,” Dorian cut in, striding over and hoisting her up by her arm. “Come on, my dear, we’re going to keep moving. We need to repay this Nightmare for its most generous hospitality.”

Katria nodded mutely and stumbled after him. Cassandra adjusted her grip on her sword and continued down the passageway. She tried to think of a proper prayer, for them, for the Inquisitor, for their survival—she hoped the Maker would be kinder than He had been to them as of late. 

===

When Cassandra jumped through the rift and fell on solid ground on the other side, she wanted to sob with relief. She staggered to her feet and looked around the courtyard, where Inquisition soldiers were still fighting the demons summoned by Erimond. Cassandra looked back at the rift behind her, but the Inquisitor had not come out. Panic shot through her spine, and she resisted the urge to run back after her. 

“Where is the Inquisitor?” Varric asked. “Where’s Hawke?” 

“I don’t know,” Cassandra replied. As soon as she spoke, the light from the rift intensified, and a figure fell from it and rolled away. It was Hawke. Seconds later, Katria appeared, stumbling to the ground. Cassandra rushed forward to help her, but she stood on her own. She turned to the rift, lifted her hand, and closed it with a practiced motion. The demons around them disintegrated, and the force of the rift closing sent them reeling backwards. 

The soldiers around them began cheering, but Cassandra did not even smile. Katria was still standing, her shoulders hunched and heaving from her labored breaths. Hawke pushed himself onto his feet. 

“Justinia was right,” he said. “Without the Nightmare to control them, the mages are free and Corypheus loses his demon army.” He shifted. “Though as far as they’re concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.” 

Katria shook her head. “O-Once they understand what really happened…” 

Hawke frowned. “They will be terrified. Let them have their stories.” 

She clenched her jaw and made no reply. The soldiers surrounding them began to move aside as someone broke through the crowd. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen exclaimed.

Katria spun around, brandishing a dagger, a look of fear plastered on her face. 

Cassandra hastily stepped forward. “Inquisitor, we’re safe now.” 

She looked down at the knife in her hand, then back up at Cullen, who had stopped in front of her. “Yes,” she said, swallowing. “Safe.” She returned the knife to her belt. “Real,” she whispered, though no one but Cassandra heard her. 

“The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared,” Cullen explained. “The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. I assumed you would want to deal with him yourself.” 

“Yes,” Katria said calmly, though Cassandra could see she was barely holding onto her composure. “Thank you.” 

Cullen glanced over at the group of Wardens beside them. “As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.” 

One Warden stepped forward and saluted her. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s tragic mistake.” 

Tragic mistake? Cassandra crinkled her nose in disgust. Clarel’s decision was monstrous. Unforgiveable. They would be better off gone then helping the Inquisition. 

The Warden looked around the group. “Where is Stroud?” 

Katria opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. “He’s…dead,” she finally said. She shook her head. “He sacrificed himself so the rest of us could survive. He exemplified the ideals of a true Grey Warden.” 

“Inquisitor,” the Warden began urgently. “We have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?”

Katria’s brow creased. She looked out at them, her lips pressed tightly together. “We have not defeated Corypheus yet. Do you believe the Wardens can still help?”

“I do, Your Worship,” he replied. 

She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but there are still plenty of demons that need killing.” 

“Thank you, Your Worship,” he said. “We will not fail you.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “After all that, you give them another chance?” she demanded. Cullen sighed in agreement beside her. 

Katria looked over, her expression mostly blank, except for the surprise—no, _hurt_ —in her eyes. She clenched one of her fists and stepped down from the raised platform she had been on. 

“I should get my wounds checked,” she said, limping past them. 

“Inquisitor, I will-,” Cullen trailed off when Katria did not wait for him to finish speaking. She just continued past him, holding her side, and disappeared around the corner. 

A scout hurried up to Cullen, distracting him, and Cassandra turned to pick up her shield. 

“You know, Seeker, I’m not sure the Inquisitor needed to hear that from you,” Varric remarked from beside her. 

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked. 

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “He means that while you normally have little to no tact, saying that to her was particularly insensitive. Even for you.” 

“I’m not going to coddle her like a child,” she protested. 

Varric sighed. “Leave it to the Seeker to know nothing about friendship. Come on, Sparkler.” 

They slipped past her and Cassandra made a disgusted noise, jamming her sword back in its sheath. She gave a deep exhale and tried to calm herself down. She thanked the Maker for bringing most of them back safely, and then set to work, pushing the twinge of guilt and worry she had for the Inquisitor out of her mind for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fairly different from what I’ve written in previous chapters, and I have feelings about that. What feelings? Weird feelings. But instead of wailing about it and re-writing it a million more times than I already have, it’s out now, officially exists on the Internet, so if ya’ll have thoughts, feel free to share, because I may come back and revise it.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Marianne accompanied the troops to the Western Approach and was sent to attend to the Inquisitor in her tent as soon as she emerged from the rift in Adamant. 

The healer was wrapping some bandages around her leg. “You should be alright in no time.” She stopped and looked up at Katria, who didn’t reply and was simply staring ahead. “Listen,” she said. “I know this kind of trauma when I see it. I’ve been a healer on the battlefield for fifteen years.” 

Katria still didn’t say anything. Marianne stood, pushing her blood streaked hair out of her face. The rest of her outfit was caked with sand and dirt—she’d spent hours tending to the wounded outside Adamant. She turned and searched through one of her bags. “Here.” She held out a vial towards her. “This will help you sleep and-,” 

Katria knocked the vial away. “I don’t want to sleep!” she snapped. 

Marianne dropped her hand, and Katria looked up at her, horrified. 

“I-I’m…I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what…I didn’t…” She buried her face in her hands. “I just can’t go to sleep.” Katria grabbed her arm. “Why don’t you let me come with you and help? I can tend to the wounded.” 

Marianne shook her head. “That’s not your job. You need to rest. You-,” 

Katria stood. “No, please,” she pleaded. “I-I can’t—I have to think of something else. There has to be….” 

The healer sighed. “Alright, come on. Grab the bags.” 

Katria gathered her things and followed Marianne out of the tent. The closer they got to Adamant, the sharper the smell of blood and metal and smoke became. They passed rows of injured soldiers being treated to by Marianne’s healers. She passed them, occasionally giving orders, but the two of them made their way through the sand to the fortress itself. 

“We’re searching the collapsed parts of the outer walls,” she explained. “I can provide the best emergency care.” 

Katria only nodded. There were soldiers all around them, pushing back stones, dragging mangled bodies out to be identified. She felt her throat tighten. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. She did not like to be reminded that these men were dead or injured because of her—she was the Inquisitor, she had lead them into battle. After what happened in the Fade, she wondered if she even deserved that title. 

She pushed the thoughts from her mind—or tried to. The voices she’d heard in the Nightmare’s lair still called out to her at times, or she would think of the little girl, the spiders. Her hands had not stopped shaking. She tried to help Marianne as much as she could: applying pressure to wounds, handing her bandages, or whatever poultices she needed. 

They methodically made their way along the exterior wall. 

Katria was helping some men carry an injured soldier to a flat piece of land when she heard movement beside her. They placed the soldier gently down, and Marianne began inspecting his wounds. Sounds were coming from a pile of debris beside them. Katria walked over and saw a Warden with his arm pinned beneath a large stone. He looked like he was just stirring from unconsciousness.

“Marianne,” Katria said. The healer stood and walked over to her as Katria bent down beside him. “He needs help.” 

Marianne tilted her head. “He’s…a Warden. They’re the ones we were fighting.” 

Katria craned her neck around. “Not anymore.” 

“So you want to help all the injured Wardens?” 

“Yes,” she said. “That’s an order.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t even ask about how many supplies we have left.” 

Katria spun around and stood, scowling. “I am the Inquisitor, and I offered the remaining Wardens a place in my Inquisition. They are willing to fight and die for us. Warden-Commander Clarel made the mistake, not them. If we want these people to help us, then they’re going to get the same treatment as my other soldiers.” 

Marianne raised an eyebrow. “I agree. I will let my healers know.” She then knelt down by the soldier, who let out a muffled groan. Her fingers ran along the spot where his arm was pinned in. She glanced back at Katria. 

“I’ll need a more experienced assistant for this. You should return to your tent.” 

Katria put her hand to her face as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Dizziness and fatigue and pain. She tried to ignore it. “No, I want to help.”

Marianne leaned towards her. “Go,” she said quietly, her voice still firm. 

Katria sighed and turned away, eventually returning to her tent. The sky was dimming around her as night began to fall. She poured herself a drink and sat on her bedroll. The soldiers outside her tent had been ordered to let no one pass.

_“Why did you bother coming back? Why didn’t they kill you instead?”_

Katria began drinking straight from the bottle. Why wouldn’t this go away? Why couldn’t she just forget? She brought her knees up to her face and curled inwards, trying to make herself as small as possible. 

Hadn’t she been under enough pressure already? Her decisions rocked all of Thedas. Choose the next ruler of Orlais, Katria. Decide the fate of the Wardens, Katria. Judge these people. Kill them. Spare them. Don’t trust them. And everyone had an opinion about all of it. 

_“After all that, you give them another chance?”_

Cassandra’s words. Her friend. Her friend who’d been in the Fade with her and seen exactly what that Nightmare had done to her. It hurt to feel unsupported. She was trying her best, she was trying to do the right thing. Katria didn’t ask for this, never asked for the power to make these decisions. 

She felt her grip on her composure fraying, just as someone lifted up the back end of her tent. Dorian appeared, holding up the canvas for Varric to slip through as well. 

“Fancy a game of chess?” Dorian asked. He opened the chest by her chair and pulled out the small game board that had been packed with her other things. 

“What?” Katria asked weakly, lifting her head. 

He placed the board on the table and motioned her over. “Chess. With me. Exercise that wildly un-academic mind of yours.” 

She stretched out her legs. “Yes. O-Okay.” 

Katria made her way to the opposite chair and sat down. She had her hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a bottle of port. Dorian tutted. 

“Oh no, my dear, that won’t do. You don’t drink out of a bottle like some barbaric Ferelden. Pour a glass.” He slid one towards her, and she obliged. “See? Now you’re infinitely more classy.” 

“I don’t know how classy someone can be when they’re still covered in demon goop,” Varric remarked, rubbing his own sleeve. 

Dorian moved his first piece. They played in silence for a while. Katria mostly focused on the game. It was a fairly good distraction. But then the memories seeped back—she wanted them out _so badly_. Katria moved a piece, recklessly, then shook her head. 

“Wait, no.” She pulled it back, rubbed at her temple. “Maybe…” She picked up another, but her hand was shaking, so it clacked against the board. “I…I…” 

_“Katria, no! Help me!”_

She burst into tears. Loud, hiccupping sobs that sent snot and water down her face. 

“I would have let you win if this was that important to you, my dear.” 

She buried her face in her hands as the tears continued to flow. 

“Nice try, Sparkler, but I think we need a different approach.” 

Dorian sighed. “As you wish.” 

Katria heard a chair sliding across the floor until it was beside her own. Dorian sat back down and wrapped his arms around her. She collapsed into his chest, still crying.

“There we are, it’s alright. We’re safe now.” 

Katria had completely lost it. Her entire body was racked by her sobbing, her breaths coming out in sharp gasps. Dorian patted her back. 

“You have to remember to breathe.” 

She buried herself deeper into his chest. “I-I don’t…I d-don’t want to…do t-this a-anymore…” She balled her hands into fists. “I-I don’t w-want to be the I-Inquisitor…”

“Can’t say I blame you, doesn’t seem worth all the acclaim after that.” 

Katria sniveled into his shoulder for a while, until she could speak more coherently. 

“I left Stroud behind…I should have…” 

Varric leaned back against his chair, his arm rested on the table. “I knew Stroud, you know. Not many people did, but the man was a hero when it mattered.” He sighed. “Seems like this story’s no good for heroes.” 

Katria closed her eyes, more tears leaking out. “I tried to stay myself. They wouldn’t let me. Stubborn mules.” 

Varric shook his head. “Of course you did.” 

She buried her face in her hands. “The Wardens needed Stroud! You, Kirkwall—need Hawke! W-Who needs me?” 

“The entire rest of Thedas?” 

“Thedas needs the Inquisition,” Katria protested. “Not…me.” She felt a swell of tears surfacing again. “E-Especially after this. I’m…” 

“You’re going to be alright,” Dorian insisted. “And we do need you. Why, what about your strapping young Templar—he especially needs you. You make him entirely tolerable.”

Katria hunched inward. She didn’t want to think about Cullen, or his face when her…her…

She started crying weakly again. 

“Way to go, Sparkler.”

“I thought she liked him!” Dorian sputtered. “I didn’t think she’d—she’d—Katria, what are you upset about?” 

She hiccupped. “He was there. I saw him. And I…he attacked me, and I…” 

Dorian squeezed her shoulders. “Oh.”

Katria pulled away from him, resting her fists on the table. She drained her drink. 

“Sorry about your…leather ensemble,” she muttered. Her tears had ruined the leather strap and the fabric of his cloak on his shoulder. 

“Oh, it’s alright,” Dorian replied, waving his hand. “I’ll bill the Inquisition for a newer and more expensive outfit. I’m afraid this one was going out of style anyway.” 

Katria pushed her arms further on the table and buried her head in them. “I should be alone. For now. Or forever.”

She expected Dorian to say something about how melodramatic she was, but instead he stood and patted her back. They left through the front of her tent, which probably thoroughly confused the soldiers outside because she’d barred all visitors. 

Katria pulled her hand through her hair, trying to remove the knots. It did not go well. How was it that a ten year old girl was better at doing her hair than she was? She slammed her palm back down on the table. Her glass clinked from the force. Katria poured herself another drink. The bottle was almost three-quarters empty, which would probably earn some pointed glares from certain people if she weren’t alone. 

She regretted asking Dorian and Varric to leave. Maybe. She wanted Cullen. But that wasn’t going to happen—they’d just fought a battle, and the Commander of the Inquisition would be required for a long time afterwards. He didn’t need to be getting snot and tears all over his fur mantel because of her sniveling weakness. As much as a small part of her wished he would burst into her tent, she knew she should care more about his contribution to the Inquisition. 

Cullen, in the Fade, flashed through her mind, unwanted. She groaned and slid her fingers along her cheeks, her temples. Maker, this was more difficult now. Part of her thought she wasn’t being dramatic when she’d told Dorian she didn’t want to be the Inquisitor. 

Katria rested the heels of her palms on her eyes before jumping up. She grabbed a bag from beside her bedroll, filled it with her tumblers and a bottle of something and slung it over her shoulder. She unsheathed her dagger, spinning it around her finger, before crouching down and tearing a slit at the back of the tent. She slipped out into the darkness and trekked across the sand. Her tent was located near the back of camp, so soon she was alone. She didn’t go far, instead she stopped in front of an old, weathered shrine to Andraste probably made around the same time Adamant had been constructed. 

Katria slumped down against a column. Her stomach flipped from the movement. She hadn’t eaten all day while also consuming entirely too much alcohol. And it hadn’t helped. It never helped. 

“What does help, Andraste?” she snapped aloud. Katria looked up at the shrine, barely visible because of the torches on either side of it. It was worn down and almost unrecognizable. 

Katria stood, staggering against the column. “Come on, Your Worship, it’s me! Your Herald! No words of wisdom for me? No shaft of light coming down from the heavens telling me what the fuck it is you want?” 

Katria finished her drink, wincing at the burning in her throat. “Or, have you and your Maker finally realized what a poor decision you made by _choosing_ me?”

She stopped, like she was waiting for a response. The only sound around her was the crackling of the fire on the torches. 

“Of course not,” Katria snapped. She frowned and hurled her glass against the shrine. It shattered and sent glass flying into the sand. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that upsetting?” She fumbled through her bag and found another glass. She threw it. “How about _you_ go into the Fade? How about _you_ let that demon torture you?” 

Another glass shattered against the stone. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t do that! I killed the demon! You’re welcome!” 

Katria looked down. She was out of tumblers. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. 

“I certainly hope that was therapeutic.” 

Katria spun around at the sound of the voice, her hand darting to her knife. Leliana glided into the halo of light around the shrine, her hands behind her back. 

“What are you doing here?” Katria asked. 

“I’m looking for the Inquisitor,” she replied. 

“Well, maybe you should come back in a few hours,” she said. “Or never.” 

Leliana walked over, and Katria collapsed back against the column. She was surprised when the Spymaster sat down beside her. 

“Varric and Dorian briefed me on your experience in the Fade,” she began. “Although, I doubt they covered everything.” 

“Nothing happened that is pertinent to the Inquisition,” Katria said. “I’ll put the important stuff in my report. Not the creepy, Nightmare demon…” 

“Torture,” Leliana finished. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Has your experience taught you nothing?” she asked, resting her wrist on her knee. 

“Oh, so the terrifying, stone-faced Spymaster wants me to talk about my feelings,” Katria muttered. 

“You gave me assurance when I was losing compassion, when I was angry,” Leliana said. “I…I want to give the same to you.” 

“I’m fine.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “So, you were blasphemously throwing glasses at a shrine to Andraste because…?” 

“I couldn’t think of any other way to get her attention.” Katria sighed and rested her head back against the column. “It didn’t work anyway.” 

“I imagine not,” she replied, smirking. “Perhaps getting some rest would serve you better in recovering from this experience.” 

“No,” Katria said. “I need to work. I’ll…talk to Cullen, see if the troops need anything, then leave for Skyhold.” 

“I will accompany you,” Leliana said. She glanced over at Katria, only half her face visible. “This might not help much, but you’ve dealt Corypheus a significant blow, Inquisitor. I, for one, deeply commend your offer of an alliance to the Wardens.” 

Katria remembered Leliana mentioning her travels with the Hero of Ferelden before. She nodded. “I’m glad to hear that actually. I know they might still be vulnerable, but I believe the Wardens can aid our cause. They carry respect in other nations. If we spread word the Inquisition has their support…” 

“We may gain standing with nations that have suffered under the Blight,” Leliana said. “I will take the matter to Josephine.” She shifted against the column. “Also, stop trying to change the subject to Inquisition business.” 

“Never thought I’d hear _you_ say that,” Katria replied. “Of course, it would be _more_ surprising coming from Cullen.” 

Leliana tapped her fingers against her glove. “He’s worried for you.” 

“Really? Then why isn’t he here?” she asked abruptly. Katria groaned and put her face in her hand. “Maker, I should not have said that. I-I didn’t mean it. I know his work is more important.” 

“Just because you know that doesn’t make it easier to deal with when you’re hurting,” she said. 

“I’m not…” Katria ran her tongue along her teeth because saying _I’m not hurting_ would be laughably inaccurate. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Katria closed her eyes. She was beginning to get another headache. 

“What was…she like?” Leliana asked. “Divine Justinia, or her soul, or the spirit that took her form. Varric and Dorian weren’t clear, but…”

Her eyes opened. “She was cryptic, but…calm. Serene even.” Katria shook her head. “She’s the only reason we got out of there.” 

Leliana smiled slightly. “That does sound like her.” 

Katria pulled her knees to her chest. “She asked me to tell you something, actually. Right before we fought the nightmare.” She looked over at her. “She said: I’m sorry. I failed you, too.” 

She pressed her lips tightly together. “O-Oh.” Leliana took a deep breath and stood. “I…should leave you. Perhaps we can discuss this later.” 

She disappeared into the shadows. Katria assumed that must have been upsetting to hear—Divine Justinia had been important to Leliana, Katria learned that the minute they met.

She thought about what else her Spymaster said—Katria _was_ fighting the temptation to completely shut down, to push everything out of her life, because these things were good but sometimes they hurt. She could not afford to show weakness anymore, not as the Inquisitor. Not ever. 

===

_Cullen,_

_You’ve…doubtless heard word of my departure to Skyhold. I apologize for not coming to see you before I left. Morrigan has summoned me to speak with her about urgent business regarding Corypheus’ plan to enter the Fade, and I had no time to tarry. I am leaving our troops in the most capable hands, I know. Upon your return to Skyhold, we can discuss my plans to travel to the Emprise du Lion._

_Josephine forwarded a letter from Skyhold she received from a Marquise Bouffon. He is requesting Inquisition protection from darkspawn for his town of Val Gamord. Leliana and I agree that it is odd to see a town threatened by darkspawn, so I’ve commissioned some of her agents to investigate before committing forces. Once we hear from them, I will let you send the Wardens where they are needed._

_Katria_

===

Cullen was dumbfounded when he first received Katria’s letter. He stood there, among the bustle of his soldiers, staring at her curvy script, her name written beneath her words, even though he couldn’t believe she wrote this for him. Why wouldn’t she want to see him? What was wrong? He wondered if he’d done something to upset her, tried to think about her report on what happened in the Fade. Her description of the events that transpired was professional and straight forward. Cassandra gave him a little more insight into how she’d been targeted, but even the Seeker was sparse with her explanation. 

During the battle, the panic Cullen felt when he heard she had disappeared into the Fade crushed him. At that moment, he couldn’t imagine, could hardly handle the _idea_ of being without her. But, maybe something had changed for her? He wanted to write her, but found the prospect of addressing such things through a letter that would be read by other prying eyes unappetizing. Of course, he was also terrified that if he sent a letter, her reply would be nothing short of: I can’t do this anymore, and we need to end it. 

So Cullen didn’t do anything. Just spent two weeks worrying about her, worrying about them, while the Inquisition troops returned from the Western Approach. He rehearsed in his head over and over again what he was going to say when he reached Skyhold. But nothing seemed to feel right because he had zero insight into her current emotional state. 

He was not given much chance to further ruminate on the idea. As soon as he stepped foot into Skyhold’s courtyard, a messenger informed him that his presence was required in the War Room. Part of him was relieved he’d get to see her, but being in front of Leliana and Josephine would not give him the chance to…express his feelings like he wanted to. 

Regardless, Cullen hurried to the Great Hall, soothed back his hair that had gotten tousled by their ride to Skyhold, and entered the War Room. Only Josephine was there. 

“Where is…Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen asked urgently. 

She smiled slightly. “She is coming, don’t worry.” 

He stood beside her on the far side of the table. “Has she been doing alright? I’ve worried and…” Cullen trailed off and rubbed his neck. 

Josephine shifted on her feet, tightening her grip on her writing board. “She is-,” 

The doors opened and cut her off. Katria walked into the room. Cullen clenched the pommel of his sword tightly in his hand in an attempt to keep himself from clamoring over the table and holding her to him. He would be alone with her soon, he’d make sure of it. It was just a matter of waiting a small amount of time, that was all. 

She looked tired. Exhausted, even. Her hair was not braided like it normally was when she was in Skyhold. There were dark circles under her eyes. When he caught her gaze, she gave him the faintest attempt at a smile. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said. 

Maker, something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Where was her easy smile, or that sharp, mischievous look she always had in her eyes? This Katria looked like the life had been wrung out of her. She stood heavy and wooden, her attention already turned away from him and to a report on the table. 

“Could you give me an update on Corypheus’ location?” she asked him.

“I…” Cullen shook his head. “He has uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbor Wilds. His army was not prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

“Thank you,” she said, putting the report back on the table. “Morrigan has given me some insight into what Corypheus is looking for in such a remote area. Let’s hope he doesn’t find that Eluvian first.” 

Katria turned as the door opened again and Leliana appeared. 

“Inquisitor,” she said. “I…have an update on the Wardens sent to Val Gamord.” 

Katria held out her hand to accept the report, but the Spymaster hesitated. 

“What?” Katria said after a few moments. “What is it? Just give it to me.” 

Leliana did so and grimaced. “I apologize, Inquisitor, this was my fault. I should have recognized the urgency of the situation and…” 

Katria was looking down, blinking, like she couldn’t quite understand what she was reading. She eventually looked up and scowled. “Your fault? I’m the Inquisitor. The blame lies with me. I sent agents to investigate, and in that time the darkspawn killed almost an entire town full of people. Innocent people.” 

She tossed the report onto the table. “Fuck,” she muttered. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine began tentatively. 

Katria raised her hand, taking a step back. “I…I think we should continue this later. Please excuse me.” 

“Katria-,” Cullen began, dropping his hand from his sword, but she ignored him and slipped through the door.

Josephine sighed. “As I was saying, Commander, the Inquisitor has been…unwell, as of late. This will likely not make things any better.” 

He frowned. “I should…I will…” 

“Yes, you should go speak to her,” Leliana said. 

“Perhaps give her a few moments to herself,” Josephine added. 

“I was going to do that,” Cullen snapped. He hated how disconnected he felt from Katria—how everyone else knew what was going on, how they seemed to know exactly how to comfort her. 

He knew her the best out of all them. Didn’t he? 

===

Katria was hammering out her frustration in the forge. The muscles in her arms ached, and she’d probably been at it for hours, but she’d been losing track of time lately, so she wasn’t sure. She sniffed and wiped her hand across her sweaty face. 

Val Gamord—a nice town, full of children and families, overrun by darkspawn because she’d waited around to investigate. She’d recruited the Wardens to help the Inquisition, and for what? Now innocent people _and_ Wardens were dead. So, of course, because she hadn’t slept well, or willingly, since being in the Fade, and because she was weak, she had gone to her room and cried about it. 

All of it made her so incredibly angry at herself. Then that anger seeped into her interactions with other people who didn’t deserve it, and it only made her more frustrated. 

In between the clang of her hammer against metal, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Katria,” Cullen began, his voice uncertain, shaky. 

She only shifted her eyes to him. If she gave him any more attention, she feared she’d collapse in a puddle of tears. Katria had tried to approach him at Adamant, she _had_. She walked up to his tent, saw the back of his coat, his golden hair, his sword, and for whatever reason, she’d panicked. He was surrounded by his soldiers, working, and it took all her strength not to cry right there. So she’d ran away, like always, because it was easier that way.

Cullen had gotten closer to her. She stopped what she was doing, her shoulders slumping. 

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” he said. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” she snapped, then her brow creased, a sigh escaping from her lips. “Sorry.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’re right. I…don’t know what to say.” 

Katria put her hammer down and spun around, the heat from the forge on her back. “That’s the problem, Cullen. There _isn’t_ anything you can say. There’s nothing anyone can say. It’s…I’m…” She cleared her throat. “I have to be okay. I don’t have a choice. I’m the Inquisitor.” 

Katria inspected the dagger she’d been working on. Not her best, that was for sure. She tossed it aside. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of work to do. We can continue this later.”

“Katria, please,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I just want you to talk to me.” 

“What is it you want to know?” she asked angrily, throwing her hand out. “You want to hear about how I saw you there, in the Fade? That I heard your _voice_ there and put a dagger through your heart? Is that what you’d like to talk about?” 

Katria turned away from him, collapsing against the rock wall near her and burying her face in her hands. Maker, that is not what she had planned to do. 

Cullen wrapped his fingers around her forearm. “Whatever happened wasn’t real.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “I know, I know. It’s okay.” She shook off his grasp and straightened. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. I’m trying not to let people see me like this. I’m…trying not to be like this at all.” 

“I want to be here for you,” he said. “If you’ll let me.” 

Katria dropped her hands. “Cullen, don’t you understand that the person you’ve liked all these months _isn’t_ who I really am?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I know you.” 

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be here and handsome and comforting if you knew who I really was. You’d like me much less.” 

“Why?” he asked, touching her shoulder. “Because you’re struggling? Because you are the first person in 1,000 years to physically enter the Fade and that affected you? You’ve seen me struggle, too, you know.”

“It’s different,” she muttered. 

“It’s not,” he insisted. Cullen tugged on her arm and she hesitantly leaned against him, burying her face in the fur of his coat. Her shoulders started shaking. He slid his arm around her waist, and he pulled her against his chest, holding her tightly against his breastplate—as tightly as he possibly could, it seemed. 

“You’re…crushing me, Cullen,” she wheezed out after a few seconds. 

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.” He let her go. “I was just trying to…” 

“I know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I tell myself every other second that what happened in the Fade wasn’t real. You don’t have to.” She sighed. “Those people in Val Gamord who are dead because of me, though? That’s real.” 

“You…made a mistake,” he replied. She felt his gloved fingers just barely grazing her jaw. “It happens. No one expects you to be perfect.” 

“My mistakes cost people their lives,” she protested. “Lots of people. I can’t afford to do this again!” 

“But you’ve saved plenty of people, too,” Cullen said. “And when we defeat Corypheus, you’ll have saved all of Thedas.” 

Katria slowly shook her head. “The Inquisition will do that. Not me.”

He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her closer. “You have been responsible for all the Inquisition’s triumphs. I believe in your ability to do this more than anything.” 

Cullen slowly leaned forward and his lips brushed against hers. When she didn’t pull away, his fingers slid to the back of her neck and he pressed her mouth more firmly to his. It had felt like forever since she’d had physical contact with anyone.

Words began falling out of his mouth. “I missed you so much, Katria. At Adamant, when they told me you disappeared, I…” His hand slid up into her hair, gripping it, as he kissed her more deeply. “Maker, I love you.” 

Katria broke away from him. “What?” 

He _loved_ her? Impossible. He didn’t—he couldn’t. She tried to think about the last time someone had said that to her. It’d been ten, twenty years. And the last time _she_ had felt that way? 

Maybe she’d seen Cullen in the Fade because she loved him, too. The Nightmare saw what mattered to her most. But if that were true, then…then this idea of _love_ wasn’t worth it. She loved people, and they died, and if she let herself love him, he’d get taken away from her, like everything else she’d ever cared about.

She stepped away. “Cullen, don’t…don’t say such foolish things.”

“Foolish?” he began incredulously, his brows arched inward. “I...that’s really how I feel.” Cullen reached up and rubbed his neck. “Forgive me, Katria, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She wasn’t upset. She was terribly frightened—frightened that these memories would haunt her forever, that she’d never get a good night’s sleep again, that Cullen said he loved her now, but would learn as she slowly fell apart that he wanted something different. 

“I should go,” Katria said, slipping past him. 

Cullen didn’t say anything, just let his hand fall to his side as his shoulders slumped. She pushed herself through the door in front of her. She flexed her marked hand—it hurt. Had been hurting since Adamant. She tucked her fist into her shirt and made her way…somewhere. Anywhere. To just continue to do work and forget about everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up sometime this weekend; it will be long like the last two so hooray! Thank ya'll for your comments and kudos and general awesomeness--it keeps me going!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

They didn’t speak much after what happened in the forge. Of course they didn’t. Cullen couldn’t look at Katria without feeling a deep ache in his chest. He was a fool to think that someone like her could ever have strong feelings for him. She didn’t want anyone in her life, and he wasn’t good enough to change that. So they both worked, diligently, non-stop, to try and forget that everything else was falling apart. Katria still refused to sleep—she lied fairly well, insisted she did, but Cullen could see the faint glow of a candle burning from her balcony at all hours of the night. The servants who tended to her room hadn’t turned down her bed in weeks. She probably collapsed from exhaustion on her desk and slept for as little time as possible before being awoken by a nightmare. 

Katria did a good job maintaining her public appearances; she was less upbeat, obviously, less quick to laugh, but still polite, and his troops continued to her adore her. She was ‘one of them.’ The men that had seen her on the battlements at Adamant bragged endlessly about her skills—apparently she was much more talented than he ever gave her credit for. The idea only upset him now because he’d lost her. 

Cullen was walking along the battlements to his office. He saw more people than usual shuffling into the Great Hall. Erimond had arrived recently for judgment. He paused and pursed his lips. He should be there. His troops were the ones fighting Erimond, after all. Katria had not executed anyone in her role as Inquisitor—not Alexius, that Avvar tribe chief, even Florianne. But he wondered if she could extend that policy to the person partially responsible for what happened to her in the Fade. 

Cullen dropped his reports in his office and cut through Solas’ study to the Great Hall. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, which wasn’t hard in a room filled with Orlesian nobles. Katria was sitting in her throne, slightly slumped; she never liked this part of her job even before the incident in the Fade. She looked tired, her eyes dull, but her hair was neatly pulled back and her clothes were not wrinkled.

There was a hush over the crowd when the clink of shackles echoed through the hall. Erimond was being dragged forward. Katria sat up straighter, her lips tightening into a scowl.

Josephine stood beside her. “Adamant’s influence continues, Your Worship,” she began. “I submit Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus. We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head.” She paused and looked down at her board. “To say nothing of justice you might personally require for what…was suffered in the Fade.” 

Katria’s brows lowered. “I’m struggling to see how judging you can make up for anything that happened,” she said in a low voice.

Erimond stepped forward. “I recognize none of this proceeding. You have no authority to judge me,” he sneered.

“On the contrary, many officials have communicated that they would defer to the Inquisitor on this matter,” Josephine interjected.

“Because they fear,” he snapped. “Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you’ve trod on in your _pathetic_ life.”

Cullen clenched his hand around his sword. Part of him hoped she killed this monster. 

“I serve a living god,” Erimond said. “Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me.”

“You are the worst of us,” Katria said, clenching her jaw. “The damage you have done is beyond all reckoning.” She was breathing deeply through her nose. “Perhaps to deny you this glory that you foolishly think you deserve, _tranquility_ would be an appropriate punishment.”

Cullen looked down at the stones under his boots to hide his surprised expression. Katria would not wield tranquility like that, would she? That was…was what Meredith did, in Kirkwall. Yes, Erimond was the worst kind of human being, but surely the mages they’d taken on as allies would be furious if she made Erimond tranquil as punishment. 

Erimond was apparently alarmed by this threat as well. “You…you cannot!” he sputtered. “I am a lord! I will not lose myself!” 

“ _You_ will not lose yourself?” she snapped back, leaning forward on the throne. Her fingers were digging into the arms of the chair, her knuckles white. 

Cullen watched her stare down at Erimond, like she was trying to burn a hole through him with her gaze. She looked so incredibly angry. He supposed he didn’t blame her. 

Katria lifted one of her hands and pointed at him. “Lord Livius Erimond, I sentence you to…” She stopped and grit her teeth together. Her livid expression faded to sadness, resignation. 

“The Wardens can have you,” she finally said, sitting back. “Let them take your head if they want it.” 

Erimond began to get dragged away. “Their petty justice or yours. It matters not,” he said. “Truth lies in the next world.”

“Is that all?” Katria asked Josephine tonelessly. 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she replied. 

Katria stood and walked straight to her quarters. Cullen hesitated, then made his way through the crowd, pushing open the door she’d disappeared through. 

“Inquisitor,” he began hurriedly. She had stopped to lean against the wall, gazing out the small window beside her. Katria shifted her weight and turned to look at him. 

“You made the right choice,” Cullen said. 

She bowed her head and pushed herself off the wall. “I know that. I’m not stupid.” She opened the door and began climbing the stairs to her room. Cullen cautiously followed her. 

He wanted to talk to her. It didn’t have to be about love, or them, or how hurt he felt. All that mattered was her well-being. 

Katria reached the top of the stairs and turned. “Is there something you-,” She stopped and jerked her head to the side. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Lady Montford, Katria’s sister, stood from her seat in front of the chess seat. She was wearing her dark hair up and a less extravagant dress than he’d seen her in at the Winter Palace, probably because she’d been traveling. 

“I’m a key ally of the Inquisition,” Lady Montford said. “Your Ambassador invited me.” 

“Well then I’ll be pushing my departure to the Emprise du Lion up to right now,” she muttered, walking further into her room. 

Lady Montford smiled slightly, her brown eyes sliding over to Cullen. “Are you in a particularly bad mood because I’m interrupting something between you and your Commander?” 

“Maker, do you ever mind your own business?” she snapped. Katria unclenched her fists and turned back to Cullen. “We can continue this later.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, nodding. He turned back to the stairs and descended them. He was starting to dislike Katria’s sister as much as she did. 

===

Katria had enough trouble keeping her temper at bay—she did not need her pretentious, manipulative sister around to needle her for the next week. Mostly because since she’d left the Fade, she more and more felt like she was resembling Kate. 

Kate sat back down on her chair and took off her gloves, gently placing them on the table in front of her. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble in this frozen, shabby paradise of yours with your Templar.”

Katria crossed the room to her desk. “He isn’t mine and he’s not a Templar.” 

“I can’t imagine why he’d be disinterested,” Kate remarked. She had made herself some tea—no sugar or milk because she liked her tea bitter. Like her personality. “Just when the Inquisitor is fading from the salon gossip, you go and enter the Fade for the first time in a thousand years. What kind of man wouldn’t want to capitalize on that power?”

Katria seated herself at her desk, putting aside a stack of half-finished letters. “I am not having this discussion with you.” 

“Fine,” she said, her cup clinking on the small saucer in her hand. “We can talk about business. The troops you sent to claim Ylenn Basin were successful in deterring the Comte de Poisson, but now he intends to petition the Council of Heralds for lordship of the area. I will talk to Cyril about having the lands deeded to the Inquisition.” 

“Sounds like the problem has been solved,” Katria said. “Did you want to talk about important business or just receive a round of applause for your efforts?” 

“A thank you would suffice,” she replied, leaning back. “I didn’t think your manners were that bad. But we can talk about other matters, if it pleases you. I was speaking to Lady Vivienne about the reprehensible state of the upholstery in the dining hall. It should be replaced—we were thinking some nice velvet.”

Katria pressed her fingers against her temple. “We do not have the money for that right now. We just gave reparations to the families of those we lost at Haven, and even that meant having to take out some loans.” 

“Why would you do that?” Kate asked. 

She glared at her sister. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Not that you would have any experience with that.” Katria winced and clenched her fist when pain from her mark shot all the way up her arm. She breathed deeply through her nose, but the burning didn’t subsist.

“Is there any reason why you’re still here?” she snapped abruptly. “I have a lot of reports to read, and I think you should go. Have a safe trip back to Val Royeaux.” 

Kate raised an eyebrow. “I’m not leaving for a week.” 

“Yes, well, I’m hoping to not have to see you again after this.” 

Her sister stood, soothing down her skirts. She slid her gloves back over her slender fingers. “I hope you feel better soon, Inquisitor.” 

“I feel fine,” Katria said, one elbow rested on her desk. 

Kate sighed. “You might hate to remember this, but we lived together for twenty years. We’re sisters. I know when you’re not well.” 

Katria glowered at her. “Bye, Lady Montford.” 

She tilted her head. “Inquisitor.” 

Her sister sauntered out of the room, and Katria opened her hand back up. She felt so out of control, of everything. She wished her sister hadn’t been in her quarters. That was the first time Cullen had spoken to her about something other than Inquisition business. But, of course, threatening to make someone tranquil was certainly another compelling piece of evidence that she was losing her mind, so he likely wanted to talk about that. She put her hand on the forehead. She could feel the magic from her mark pulsing there, and it terrified her.

===

Katria did a good job avoiding her sister, and everything else, for the next few days. She was gathering some books that she would pretend to read, while listening to Dorian complain about the selection in her library, until she walked down to Solas’ study. 

He was at his table, bent over some scrolls. He looked up as soon as her feet clicked against the stone floor. 

“Inquisitor,” he began. 

She stopped. She would not say that Solas was her biggest fan, especially since her patience had been wearing thin as of late. 

He rounded the table. “Tell me. How does it feel?” 

“How does what feel?” Katria asked. 

“Being you,” he said, frowning. “Are you blissfully unaware or, deep inside, is some part of you banging on the walls, screaming?”

The latter. Definitely the latter. “Being me feels great,” she replied sarcastically. “Like pulling on a warm pair of stockings, going to sleep, and being terrified by the memories of a demon that tortured me.”

“Continue with your merry japes,” Solas snapped. “It would be sad were you forced to examine yourself with a critical eye.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “If you have a problem, say it, I don’t have time for your feelings.” Or hers, for that matter. 

“Of course,” he sneered. “I should watch my tongue. I speak to a demigod, after all. The Chosen of Andraste.” 

“You must have me confused with someone else,” she said. “Corypheus is the one who wants to be a god, not me.” 

Solas stepped closer to her. “Tell me, do you enjoy the worship? Does it make you feel infallible, or do you see them as fools, gullible for their beliefs?”

Katria threw her hand out, but winced as pain shot through it. “I just want to defeat Corypheus. I never asked to be worshipped, but if it gains me allies, I’ll tolerate it.”

“You’re not gaining allies,” Solas protested. “You’re gaining minions, sheep driven by one false god to fearfully follow another.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you pleased to have the Wardens on your side? Do you wish you could join their proud little cult?”

She shook her head. “Grey Wardens know more about the Blight than anyone else. They’re our best hope of fighting it, and they can help us.”

“How long, do you think, before their next attempt to control something beyond their comprehension?” he asked. 

Katria rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure they’ll be polite enough to wait until we’re done defeating this darkspawn magister.” 

Solas scowled and leaned forward. “I should thank you, Inquisitor. I had spent time with few of your people before this. From the stories, I thought you all thuggish, simple and crude. Now?” He smiled bitterly. “Now, I know I was right. You have no idea what a comfort that is.” 

Katria clenched her fists. Maker, she had no allies in this fight anymore, did she? She'd pushed Cullen away, Cassandra had gutted her, she couldn't go five minutes without snapping at someone. 

“You are _way_ out of line, Solas! Yes, I allied with the Wardens, and yes, I don’t give a single fuck about all your stories about the Fade, but I am _trying_ my best! I…” The magic in her mark starting crackling and she grabbed her wrist, groaning.

“Inquisitor?” 

The pain blinded her. She collapsed on her knees. “I-I’m…” She saw bright green light from under her closed eyes. A surge of power burst from her hand, and she heard the crack of stone. It ended quickly, and Katria’s head shot up. 

Solas had been pushed against the wall. His hands were lifted to bring up a barrier around him. His expression was furious. 

“Are you out of your mind?” 

Katria scrambled up. “Solas! Solas, I’m sorry. A-Are you alright?” 

He stood. “You have no control! Has this happened before?”

She was holding her hand to her chest. Tears were pooling in her eyes. “No, no I swear! It’s just hurting, a-and I don’t know what to do!” 

Solas put his hand to his temple. “Inquisitor, you could have killed someone who wasn’t-,” 

“I know!” Katria exclaimed abruptly, covering her ears. “Maker, I know! P-Please, I…”

“We must tell-,” 

“No,” she cut in, “You can’t. We can’t. I-I have this under control. I promise.” 

“You don’t,” Solas insisted, gesturing to the giant crack in the stone wall behind her, cutting a line through his murals. 

“I can get it under control,” she said. “I just need time. Come on, Solas, please. Just give me a few days. You can help me.”

“Inquisitor, this is dangerous,” Solas said softly. 

Katria collapsed against his desk. “I don’t know what to do.” 

He walked over and reached out. “May I look at your hand?” 

She jumped back. “No, that’s dangerous. I don’t want to hurt anyone again, okay?” Katria stumbled around to the other side of the desk. “I think…maybe I should be alone.” She charged through the door that led into the Great Hall before he could reply. Katria returned to her quarters and buried herself in her covers. 

Why couldn’t she be in control? Why did this keep happening? She let out a muffled sob and brought her hand to her chest. If she let this ability hurt anyone else…Maker, she couldn’t live with herself. What if it had been Cullen whom she lost her temper with? He wasn’t a mage; he couldn’t have put up a barrier. What if she had hurt or killed him? The thought was unbearable.

Katria laid in her bed for some time she couldn’t keep a handle on. It got dark, eventually. She could see that through the open windows on the far side of her room. No one came by. People didn’t bother her much anymore, and she’d gotten a bolt for the door. Probably a good idea now that she couldn’t control the stupid magic in her stupid hand and would kill someone with it. 

She knew she fell asleep because she had a nightmare about being in the Fade. She awoke with a start, sweat trickling down her face. Her hand was still hurting, and she staggered out of bed, squinting in the early morning sun pouring into her room.

A loud knocking echoed through her quarters, and Katria groaned. She walked down her stairs and threw open the door. 

“What?” 

The soldier at the threshold hunkered back. “Um, Inquisitor, the unit you requested to accompany you to the rift is ready.” 

Katria rubbed her face. A rift had opened on one of the trade roads near Skyhold. Before her incident with Solas, she’d agreed to ride out there and take care of it. Now, she wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. Then again, letting demons pour out onto a road leading directly to Skyhold probably wasn’t a good idea either. 

She sighed. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “Wilson, right?” 

He perked up and smiled slightly. “Yes, Your Worship. Shall I send your unit to the portcullis?”

“Yes. I will be there shortly.” Katria paused. “I won’t require any of my other party members.” 

He saluted. “By your leave, Inquisitor.” 

Katria shut the door and rested her forehead against it. She looked down at her hand, watching the green energy crackle there. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. This had to work. It _had_ to.

She threw on her cloak and gathered her daggers. It was still quite early in the morning, and a layer of fog was hanging over the courtyard. She rode out with a unit of Cullen’s soldiers, who normally patrolled the road that led into Skyhold. Katria almost sighed with relief when Cullen had not been with them—but then maybe she was also a little sad? 

They travelled for a few hours, until they reached one of Leliana’s scouts who was keeping an eye on demon activity in the area. They turned from the road into the forest. Her hand sparked and burned as they got closer to the rift, which is something that normally happened, but now the feeling had intensified. The group dismounted, and Katria sent the soldiers to fan out around the rift. She headed in first to take stock of the enemies—three rage demons. 

Katria grunted. She hated rage demons. She hated fire. Her fingers clenched around her daggers, and she moved in on them. The Inquisition soldiers quickly followed. They were a good group—a mix of different fighting styles who all knew how to work together. She pushed the thought from her mind that she was impressed with Cullen’s leadership.

They cut through two waves of demons with relative ease. Katria returned her daggers to their place on her back. She mechanically lifted her hand up to the rift—it was her natural inclination after closing so many. Pain like a lightning bolt ran up her arm, and she staggered sideways. 

Katria tried to yank her hand away, but she could feel the mark connecting to the rift, pulling her forward. The ache was bad, as bad as it had been when she had almost hurt Solas, and she panicked. But she _couldn’t_ panic, the last time she’d panicked—

Katria felt her body being thrown backwards into a tree before everything went black. 

===

When Katria awoke, the sun was high in the sky, filtering through the branches over her. The pain in her hand was manageable now. She shifted and propped herself up on her elbows. The rift was gone, but there was no one around her. Katria groaned and sat up. 

She froze when she saw the bodies. The soldiers had been thrown back, like she had. Her soldiers. Katria’s hand shot up to her mouth, and she gave a muffled scream. She scrambled to her feet. Her ears were ringing, the green magic in her hand crackling again.

Not again. Not again. _Please not again._

They were dead. She’d killed them. One soldier had blood trickling from his temple. It had happened again and… 

Katria clenched her fingers in her hair and gave a low wail. She collapsed on her knees and cried into her hands. She stopped after only a few moments, sucking in such a sharp breath it hurt. 

Maker, what was she supposed to do now? Go back to Skyhold? Hi, Cullen, I know I’ve probably destroyed our personal relationship beyond repair, but since that clearly wasn’t enough, here’s a reason for you to hate me professionally, too, as it appears I’ve killed an entire unit of your soldiers.

Katria slammed her fists into the damp ground under her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She stood and wrestled out of her cloak, throwing it on the ground with the Inquisition button she clasped it with. Her daggers went along with it. She pulled her shirt over her head, the stupid thick cotton, the useless embroidery, leaving behind a thin linen shirt. No more Inquisition. No more Inquisitor.

She wiped the tears off her cheeks, giving one or two strangled sobs, before looking at the lifeless faces around her and breaking into a run. 

===

Cullen was in his office when one of his soldiers approached him. He looked up from the supply requisition he was reading when the young man didn’t speak. 

“Yes, Wilson?” 

The soldier stood at attention. “Ser, the Inquisitor has not returned from closing the rift outside Skyhold. The unit that accompanied her took a crow, but we’ve received no messages.” 

Cullen turned and looked out the window. It would be dark in a few hours, and he knew they had left just after sunrise. He glanced back at the soldier. 

“I see. I will send-,” 

The door beside them swung open and Leliana appeared.

“Commander, might we speak in private?” 

Cullen waved Wilson away. As soon as he was gone, Leliana approached his desk. “I received an alarming message from one of my scouts. There has been an…incident.” 

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. 

Leliana hesitated. “Her missive was not clear. It involves the Inquisitor. I think you should go out there.” 

Cullen felt his chest tighten. “I will leave at once.” 

As he was hurrying to the stables, he ran into Solas. 

“Have you seen the Inquisitor?” the apostate asked him. 

Cullen stopped. “Why?” 

Solas sighed. “I have not seen her all day, and I need to speak to her. She is unwell, as you know, and it has affected her ability to control the magic in her mark.” 

“What happened?” he demanded angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? She left this morning to go close a rift!” 

Solas bypassed his angry questions. “You are looking for her now? I shall accompany you.” 

“Fine,” he said, as he started walking again. “Just hurry.” 

It took about two hours to reach the part of the road where Leliana’s scout was waiting. Solas complained a few times about their fast pace, but Cullen did not care. He was worried—there was this twisting, sickening feeling in his stomach. Katria’s problems had gone unaddressed for entirely too long; what if she had finally snapped? 

Cullen slid off his horse, and the scout immediately began speaking, a grimace on her face. 

“Commander, thank you for coming. My message to Leliana was intentionally vague because I’m…a little confused myself. Follow me.” 

Cullen and Solas followed the young woman further into the forest. They reached a small clearing, where his unit of Inquisition soldiers was milling around, some of them seated against trees getting their wounds tended to. 

He furrowed his brow. “What’s the problem?” 

The scout scratched her head. “This morning, I pointed this unit and the Inquisitor towards a rift and continued on my rounds. A few hours later, when I saw their horses still tied up on the side of the road, I went to investigate.” She gestured across the clearing. “I found all these men unconscious and…the Inquisitor was nowhere in sight.” 

She led them forward to an untouched pile of clothes. Cullen knelt down. Katria’s gray cloak, a thick, dark blue shirt with silver embroidery, and her daggers were haphazardly thrown together. He ran his hands down the cloak, inside the shirt, and found the Inquisition button she used, but no sign of his coin. He’d seen her wearing it around her neck, and she hadn’t left it here. Maybe that was a good thing? 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would she…Maybe…” Cullen stood and frowned. “Do you think she’s in danger?” 

Solas was standing by a reclined soldier and inspecting his head. “You said you found them all unconscious? Every single one?” 

“Yes,” the scout replied. “No one remembers much. Her Worship was closing the rift, and then nothing.” 

“I see,” Solas said, straightening. He gestured Cullen over to a more private area and put his hands behind his back. “I think I know what happened here.” 

“Well?” he said impatiently. 

Solas sighed. “As I said in Skyhold, Katria had trouble controlling her mark yesterday when she became emotionally distressed. The magic flared up, threw me backwards, but I was able to use a barrier to protect myself.” He gestured to where the rift had once been. “I theorize that the same thing happened here. She tried to close the rift, panicked, and even more of the magic was released. She was likely delirious, confused, and thought she’d killed this unit of soldiers.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, running his hand through his hair. “So you think that…” 

“The Inquisitor left behind anything that could be used to identify her and ran away.” 

Cullen groaned. “No, no, no. Oh, Katria…” He began pacing. “We have to find her. We have to make her understand what happened.” 

His eyes flicked back to the soldiers. “I should return to Leliana and Josephine before we do anything. This is…” 

“Bad for the Inquisition’s reputation to say the least,” Solas said. 

Cullen spun around and scowled. “It will be fine. She has been under unimaginable stress and…and we’ll find her. She’ll come back.” 

He marched out to Katria’s clothes and gathered them up in his arms. He ordered the scout to send a crow ahead asking Leliana and Josephine to meet him in the War Room. Cullen made even better time back to Skyhold just as night began to fall. 

Like he asked, the rest of the Inquisitor’s advisors were waiting for him. Cullen dumped Katria’s clothes on the table and leaned over them, resting his palms on either side of her cloak.

“The Inquisitor went to close a rift this morning with a unit of soldiers. Solas informed me that she has had trouble controlling the magic in her mark when she is…emotionally distressed. Trying to the close the rift apparently triggered that.” Cullen looked up at them. “The magic threw the soldiers back, knocked them unconscious, but Katria must have thought…she killed them, and she fled.”

“Fled?” Leliana began incredulously. “You mean she’s gone?” 

Cullen just nodded. 

Josephine nervously spun her quill between her fingers. “Oh my. That is not good news.” 

“We have to send scouts out looking for her,” he insisted. “All of them.” 

“Are you out of your mind?” Leliana began. “If we send out a fleet of soldiers looking for her, our allies will know that the Inquisitor has ran away. It will show weakness.” 

“We can say that she has been kidnapped or something,” he said. “By red Templars.” 

Josephine shook her head. “And admit that we let the enemy get this close to Skyhold? Or show that the Inquisition doesn’t know how to protect its Herald?” 

“Well, then what do we do?” Cullen snapped. “We have to find her.” 

Leliana sighed. “Even if we think of a valid excuse, I doubt any of my best agents could find her quickly. Wandering the wilderness of Ferelden is her specialty. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “We have to try. We can’t just give up.” 

“I agree,” Josephine said. She tapped her quill thoughtfully against her board. “Here’s what we can do. Let’s send out a small group of Leliana’s best, and most trusted, agents to look for the Inquisitor. We also dispatch a few members of her inner-circle—we tell our allies that they are leaving to catch up with the Inquisitor, who was has gotten a lead about some red Templars smuggling villagers in Ferelden to their mines.”

Josephine glanced at both of them. “The biggest obstacle will be discretion. The unit of soldiers she was with, Leliana’s agents, must not speak of the truth.” 

“My agents are trained for this,” Leliana said. 

Cullen nodded. “I can ensure discretion as well.”

“Excellent,” Josephine said. “We should continue on this course for two weeks. At that point, if the Inquisitor has not returned, we might have to re-evaluate our strategy.” 

“She will be back,” Cullen said firmly. 

Josephine gave a small frown. “I hate that it came to this. I should have done more to help ensure that…she was alright.” 

“Her emotional distress is no excuse for her departure,” Leliana protested. The Spymaster could be cold as ice when she wanted to. 

Cullen said nothing, just stared down at the gray cloak draped across the table between his hands. _He_ should have been the one making sure she was alright, and instead he ignored her, let her suffer alone. The thought sickened him. He fought the urge with every muscle in his body to get his horse, ride out of Skyhold, and search for her until he found her. The Inquisition was nothing without her, didn’t she see that?

His stomach flipped at the thought that even if they _did_ find her, she’d refuse to return. They couldn’t force her to. Cullen shook his head. No matter what, he knew Katria wouldn’t do that. She just needed to see that she didn’t hurt anyone. Then it would be alright. He should write her, maybe. It didn’t matter to him who would see the words anymore. All that mattered was that she returned home. 

Katria, I still love you. Please, please, please come back to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? Sorry! Next chapter will have resolution, I pinky swear. I wanted to condense all this divergence into a few chapters, so the next one will be long too. Thoughts are appreciated, even if its just boo-ing Katria for her poor life decisions (or mine, possibly).


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Been feeling under the weather + this bear of a chapter made the whole writing process take longer than usual! But it's here now, and hopefully it's tolerable.

It was dark by the time Katria felt like she had her head screwed on straight. She was still in the forest, one palm flat against a tree as she tried to regulate her breathing. Even though she felt as if she was just regaining her senses, she’d already done things throughout the day to make her route untraceable to the Inquisition scouts who were likely looking for her. Fortunately, her money had been packed among her things, and she used it to get herself a new green cloak and a bow in a nearby village. She’d given the green cloak away to a nice young merchant who resembled her and was traveling to the Hinterlands, and she bought another dark blue one for herself. The scar on her face was too distinct for her to risk travelling around so close to Skyhold without a hood. The bow was for hunting—she certainly was not a combat archer like Sera or Varric, but she could lie in wait for prey and have good aim when the occasion called for it.

Katria turned so her back was against the trunk of the tree. She lowered herself to the ground and brought her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“What’s your game here, Kat?” she said aloud. Maker, if she didn’t need more proof she was losing her mind, talking to herself could top off the list. Katria slid her palm along her temple, listening closely to the sounds of the forest around her. The rustle of leaves in the wind, the shrill call of the insects that populated the forest as spring turned to summer.

She was alone. Utterly alone. When was the last time she like this? Sure, she used to fool herself into thinking her quarters provided her with solitude, but they didn’t, not really, because everyone in Skyhold was acutely aware of her location at all times, including the guards right outside her door. But here—here, in this forest, tucked between the gnarled roots of a tree, there was no one that could find her. 

An ominous crackle joined the chorus of sounds around her, and she grit her teeth. Katria hesitantly lifted her hand, examining her mark, hating it with a burning passion. She remembered seeing it for the first time, shackled in that dungeon in Haven. Cassandra had let her go, and she wanted to run away every second afterwards. This chaos—those dead soldiers—were the consequence of her regaining any sort of power. She should have left sooner. Left as soon as she closed the Breach. She could have traveled around Ferelden and Orlais, alone, closing rifts, not making big, bureaucratic decisions. 

How did she manage to convince herself that things would be different this time? Because she’d found herself a tolerable Templar she was undeserving of, and a group of friends—some fickle—she expected something to change? No. Katria was the same foolish, out of control child who’d killed her brother. Except now she’d killed a whole unit of brothers, husbands, friends…

Katria squeezed her eyes tightly shut, silent tears spilling across her cheeks. She took a few sharp, shaking breaths before knocking her head back against the trunk of the tree propping her up. 

She needed a drink.

===

Katria traveled through the night just out of view of a dirt road leading into a small farming village. There were not many routes out of the Frostbacks, so she knew she had to be careful about who she let see her. Her plan was to go north once she got further into Ferelden, up across Lake Calenhad, maybe through Gherlen’s Pass and Orzammar, to Jader. She’d briefly considered heading south— if she really wanted to be out of sight she’d go to the Brecilian Forest, but that would require crossing the Hinterlands, South Reach, all places where she was too recognizable. 

She was exhausted and ravenous when she finally reached a very small, secluded tavern. The roof was covered in hanging moss, and light poured out from the shuddered windows onto the ground in front of her. The walk up had been quiet, but closer to the door, she could hear music, laughing, the way things normally went at this time of night. Katria pushed her way inside, keeping her hood over her head. It was fairly crowded; the smell of ale and game meat was familiar to her. She made her way to the corner of the room and sat along a wall, keeping an eye on the door. 

The bar keep was cleaning tankards beside her, with a rag dirty enough that it probably was not doing its job very well. He was a large man with ruddy cheeks and an unkempt beard. 

“Can’t stay if you don’t drink, buttercup,” he remarked, staying focused on his work. 

“Do I look like a flower?” Katria snapped back. She sighed and dug her hand into her pocket, splaying a few pieces of silver onto the bar. Her eyes scanned the area behind him. There were mostly tankards of watery ale. She spotted a bottle, brown tinted, square, resting on a shelf above him. 

“Give me that West Hill Brandy up there. All of it.” 

The man turned to see what she was looking at. “Good eye, princess.” 

She clenched her jaw. “I have a knife you know.” 

He snorted and tossed his rag across his shoulder. “Yeah, you and the rest of rural Ferelden.” 

Katria rested her palm on her forehead. “Can you just give me the bottle?” 

“Sorry, little bird. Not for sale.” 

She furrowed her brow and gestured to her coins. “What do you mean ‘not for sale’? I’m offering you double its value.” 

He put his palms on the counter. “That is the best bottle of brandy I’ve got, and I’m saving it for someone special.” 

“Oh, and who is that?” she asked.

“The Inquisitor.” 

Katria was so angry her eye twitched. “What?” 

He leaned back. “You heard about the Inquisition, right? Right up the road, few hours trip is their main base.”

“I am aware,” Katria ground out, while also retreating further into her cloak. “Why, specifically, are you saving the bottle?” 

The bar keep began wiping the counter down. “My kid brother lives out in Redcliffe. Sent me a letter a few months ago saying how the Herald of Andraste and her Inquisition really turned things around there. Saved his life from those Tevinters. Found his damn goat.” He shrugged. “We’re close by here, figured she’d stop at the tavern someday. She’s got a real taste for fine liquor, I heard, so I thought I’d keep the brandy around to give her. Must be a pretty thankless job at times.” He stopped and grinned. “Plus, if she’s really the Herald of Andraste and the Maker’s chosen, can’t hurt to be nice and maybe get a blessing.” 

“I’m not-,” Katria bit her tongue and let out a sharp hiss. “I’m not as impressed by the stories.”

“You haven’t been listening to the right stories, then.” 

She clenched her fist. “Is there anything I can do for that bottle?” 

“Nope,” he said. “Sorry. Man’s gotta have principles, you know.” 

“Why are you saving something when you don’t even know what the Inquisitor looks like?” Katria demanded. 

“People talk,” he said, scratching his beard. “When she comes north, Inquisition soldiers will be around. Wears a gray cloak, I heard. Free Marches noble—you can always tell a noble by the way they ride a horse. Like they got sticks straight up their asses.”

She smiled slightly at his comment because that’s exactly how Dorian and Vivienne looked when riding their horses. 

The man gestured backwards. “Come on, buttercup, let me pour you an ale. Drink enough, and you won’t know the difference.” 

Katria left the silver on the counter and pushed her stool back. “Still not a flower,” she muttered, and then she left the tavern. 

She hiked back into the forest completely out of sight of the sleepy hamlet. She found a dense set of bushes that she settled herself under, falling asleep with her body coiled around her bow. Before she slipped away, she thought about what the bar keep’s reaction would be if she told him what kind of person the Inquisitor really was: a coward, a weakling, a murderer. She pushed the idea from her mind and dreamed of the Fade. 

She’d go hunting in the morning. But most importantly, she’d keep moving. 

===

The days ticked by, slid through his fingers, and Katria didn’t return. Two days, three days. On the fourth day, Cullen received a message from Scout Harding. 

_Commander:_

_Struggling to keep on the trail. She’s crafty. Spent a whole day tracking her features in a green cloak, decoy. Headed north now, visited a tavern where a young woman was asking for brandy. Staying discreet._

_Harding_

The letter upset him. Not only was Katria gone, she was trying to stay that way. He thought she’d come to her senses after a few hours, even a few days, but that wasn’t happening. He constantly had to talk himself out of heading out there himself. He had a job to do at Skyhold, and Harding would be better at finding her anyway. 

He did let himself go to her quarters, just briefly. Just to…check that everything was in order there. He slowly climbed the stairs, stopping at the top to squirm in the silence there. It was odd not seeing her. Cullen walked over to her desk that was littered with reports, letters, various ink wells. She’d gotten a lot of work done in the last few weeks due to her lack of sleep. His eye was drawn to the wall. In that corner of the room, there was a mirror, only a few feet tall, but it had been shattered—the normally smooth service was a network of cracks. She’d smashed it. Why? 

Cullen sighed. He should have seen sooner what was wrong. 

The door at the bottom of the stairs flew open, making him jump up and spin around. The patter of feet ascended the steps, and Bailey appeared. 

Her face fell upon seeing him. “Oh.” 

“What are you doing here?” Cullen asked, circling the desk. 

She threw her small hands up. “I saw you come in. I thought it meant she was back. I’ve just been waiting and waiting in the Great Hall.” She trudged over to him. “She didn’t even say goodbye. She _always_ says goodbye.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. It was a little sudden. The situation required her immediate attention.” 

“I did something, didn’t I?” she said urgently, grabbing the end of his jacket. “It’s my fault she didn’t say anything.” 

“No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s just…” 

Bailey let go and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She began making small, teary whimpers. “Why does everyone leave me?” 

“Ah…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not…you didn’t…” 

“I did!” she wailed. 

He hesitantly reached out his hands. “Oh, okay, don’t…” Cullen knelt down and patted her shoulder before she flung her arms around his neck, sniffling. He shifted, trying to ignore the fact that her tears were getting on his armor, which could lead to rusting, and he’d have to-

“When is Katria coming back? Soon?” 

Cullen sighed. “I don’t know.” 

She stepped back a little, clenching her fingers in his fur mantle. “What do you mean you don’t know? Doesn’t she write you letters?” 

“Well-,” 

“Is there something wrong?” she demanded. 

“No, no, of course not,” Cullen insisted. 

Bailey scrunched her small nose and frowned. “Something _is_ wrong.” She tried to blink some tears away. “Ever since Katria got back from the Western Approach, she’s hardly spoken to me. She never lets me do her hair a-and she was teaching me to cheat at chess but now-,”

“I know,” he said hastily. “I know it’s been different.” 

She sniffed. “It’s been _bad_ , Cullen. Bad.” 

“The Inquisitor will return, Bailey. Soon. And it will be better.”

“You promise, right?” she said. 

“Well…I will try.”

Bailey hugged him around the neck, but then pulled back and furrowed her brow. She tapped her small finger against his breastplate. “It must not be very comfortable for Katria to hug you.”

Cullen stood. “She doesn’t-,” 

“Well, she wants to,” Bailey said. “You should let her.” 

He cleared his throat. “I have some reports to read. I should go.” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “If—If you’d like me to teach you how to _properly_ play chess, I could meet you in the garden this evening. For a little bit.”

She nodded, rubbing her sleeve on her nose. “That sounds fun. Sort of.”

Cullen continued down the stairs and returned to his office. He clenched his hand around his sword on the way over. Maker, what if he had lied to Bailey? What if Katria never came back? Or what if she came back and wasn’t the same? Was so different, she wanted nothing to do with him anymore? He tried to distract himself from such thoughts with his work. He reminded himself that she kept his coin—it was important to him, she’d made it important to her, right? He prayed that it was so, although he doubted it would help. 

===

Katria was waiting patiently, crouched near the forest floor, camouflaged in a line of foliage. This—hunting—was one of the few things she did patiently. There was a small rabbit at her feet, limp and cold, as she’d shot it right through the head. It would provide a decent amount of meat, but she hadn’t eaten a full meal since…she left Skyhold almost a week ago. She’d subsisted on berries, roots, spent most of her money in town on alcohol. A continuing downward spiral, if she’d ever seen one. 

Twigs cracked behind her in the still silence, and Katria turned her torso, bringing the string of her bow back to her cheek. Her arrow was already notched, and it was pointing at a rustling pile of leaves in front of her. A pair of oversized ears came into view before a brown fox appeared, small, digging its nose into the dirt, smelling for something. 

Katria aimed for it, but hesitated. She let out a quiet breath through her nose. A year ago, she would have released her arrow with pleasure. Now, she waited, hating herself for it, as the muscles in her arms and fingers strained from holding the bow string taunt for so long. 

_Just kill the fucking fox_ , she thought to herself. _It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You need to eat. Kill it._

Katria had avoided Bailey since Adamant. She lost her temper too easily, and the girl didn’t deserve to be subject to that. 

Neither she nor the fox made a move. Katria tightened her grip, trying to steel herself, before making a frustrated noise. The fox’s head jerked up, and it scampered away. She lowered the bow. 

“Fuck,” she said aloud. How many people, _actual_ people, had she put an end to in her life? Hundreds, certainly, especially since joining the Inquisition. Mages, Templars, Venatori. And a fox was giving her hang ups. All this sentiment she had building up was frustrating. Because what exactly did sentiment get her? More to lose. 

Katria only had the rabbit for dinner. 

===

It was the ninth day—or tenth?—when she reached a sizable village, that had an inn, and no Inquisition presence at the moment, thankfully. She wasn’t a ten day’s journey from Skyhold. She’d made some circles, rested, in order to avoid being tracked.

Katria arrived in town at dusk. Or tried to. Just as she reached the crest of the hill that the tavern was situated on, she was stopped by two soldiers, probably the arl of this area’s men.

“Excuse me, miss, but you should get to safety,” one said, as he raised his hand to stop her. 

“Why?” Katria asked.

He gestured backwards. “One of those Fade rifts has opened up out past town. Demons been coming out periodically.” 

Katria tilted her head so her hood covered her face more fully. “Thank you for the warning.” 

The soldier lowered his hand and let her pass. Katria hurried around them. The tavern a few feet down the road was big, made of clay and stone, and currently crowded. She stopped at the door. She needed to go in and have a drink. That was her comfort zone, that’s what she wanted. Closing that rift would be more than a dead giveaway on her location. 

Katria put her palm on the door, then let it slide down to her side. She sighed because she didn’t have a choice in this. Not really. The mark was on her hand— _only_ her hand. Any demon that came from that rift and hurt or killed anyone was her responsibility. Except that her mark had also killed people on its own. 

Katria turned away from the tavern, clenching her fists with determination and marching further down the road. She walked for about half an hour before she heard the clank of metal as a few soldiers ran past her. Three more were standing by the side of the path. 

One woman with an axe frowned at her. “Hey, you’ve got to stay away from here. Demons nearby.” 

“I heard,” Katria said, approaching her and taking off her glove. The magic in her hand began crackling, and they reeled backwards. 

The soldier’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “Y-You’re…You’re _her_.” 

“I must say that’s not my least favorite title,” she said, stuffing her glove in her belt. “But yes, I am. I can close the rift.” Katria stepped closer. “I need your men to stay away when I do—when’s the last time demons appeared?” 

She straightened. “We just fought off two waves, Inquisitor.” 

“Excellent,” Katria said, brushing past her. She stopped and turned. “Don’t send anyone after me. I’m serious.” 

The woman just nodded, still apparently a little flabbergasted by Katria’s appearance. She navigated through the trees, drawn by the magic she could sense in the rift. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them. She just had to stay calm, how hard was it to stay calm? 

The rift was a few feet away from her now—the magic flexing and shimmering in front of her. Katria stood before it, squared her shoulders and lifted her hand to the mark. She winced as she felt it coming to life, there was a dull ache slowly growing. Katria squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Please let this work. This _had_ to work. 

She was pushed back, staggering one or two steps back before falling to the ground. Her eyes slowly opened, and she lifted her head. 

The rift was gone, and she let out a shaky sigh. She flopped back down on the ground. 

It had worked. 

===

Katria didn’t wait for the soldiers to approach the now closed rift. She had basically raised the red flag on her location, and she had no interest in being ogled at further. The solitude of the last week—not being referred to as the Inquisitor even once—had been nice. 

She wanted to feel good about closing the rift, to feel better, fixed, but she didn’t. Her mark had _already_ hurt people; it didn’t matter if it was under control for a moment. Katria walked through most the night to try and ensure she wasn’t followed. It was chilly, so when she finally stopped she started a small fire. The flame likely made her more visible, but her shirt was too thin, and her cloak too threadbare to go without one.

She was tired, that was for sure. Too frightened to sleep. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes. While she rested in that position, she heard the hiss of air near her, and then felt a shadow at her side. Katria bolted up and yanked out her dagger.

“ _Cole?_ ” she sputtered at the shadowy figure. 

Cole reached out his hand to her as he stepped closer to the fire. “I want to help,” he said, in his toneless voice. 

“How the fuck are you even here?” she demanded. “Y-You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” 

“I came with you,” he said. “I would have told you before, but you were busy.” 

Katria put her hand on her temple. “Wait, what? How did I not see you?”

“It’s easy to make people forget when they don’t expect you to be there.” Cole walked past her, staring out into the trees. 

“Eyes rough, head aching, fingers too clumsy for my dagger. You hurt, but helping hurts more.” 

Katria made a frustrated noise. “Cole-,”

“You want it to be your fault, so there’s a reason and it’s not so frightening. But there is no reason.” 

She spun around to him. “Cole, leave it alone!” she snapped. “There’s nothing you can do to help me!” 

He blinked and tilted his head. “That didn’t work. Let me try again. You’ll forget in a minute.”

Katria lifted up her hand and stumbled back. “No, don’t—I don’t want to forget.” She put her hands over her ears. “Just get out of my head. I don’t like when people are in my head.” 

“But I want to help,” he insisted. “Fixed, festering. It’s been bouncing around inside you. Closing up into a ball of wrong.”

“How are you even doing this?” she demanded. “You told me that I was too bright. Birds against the sun or something.” 

“You’re louder now,” he said. “You’re different. You were always sad underneath.” 

“Cole, please,” she said, lowering her hands. “I don’t…” 

“Why do you think you killed them?” 

Katria looked up at him. “What?” 

Cole stepped closer. “The soldiers. They were…quiet for a while, then they came back. They’re not dead.”

“Are you…are you saying…” Her knees felt weak, and she slumped onto the ground. “I didn’t kill them?” She buried her fingers in her hair. “Oh, fuck. Maker ball’s, what have I done…” 

“They want you to come back,” Cole said. 

Katria stood and walked a few steps away from him. “I can’t do that. It’s already too late. I’ve already…they need someone better—a better Inquisitor.” 

He followed her. “Let me help.”

“No, Cole. I told you, there’s nothing you can do.” 

“Try,” he said, his voice rising, “Please let me try. I can help.” 

“Will you leave me alone after this _trying_ or do you just intend to follow me forever?” Katria muttered. 

“Yes.” 

She clenched her jaw tightly. She wished there was a translator somewhere for his cryptic communication. “Fine, Cole.” She turned to him and threw her hand up. “What is it you want to try?”

“You have to sleep,” he explained. 

Katria rolled her eyes and sat back down by the fire. “Of course.” 

He crouched down beside her. “You’ll do it? Twisting, burning-,” 

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it,” she interrupted tersely. She laid on her back and gave a sharp exhale. “I won’t fall asleep if you don’t keep my thoughts to yourself.”

He scooted over so he was sitting beside her. “I will try.” 

Katria folded her hands across her stomach. Her eyes followed the trail of smoke from the fire up into the dark sky. She didn’t know what Cole’s plan was, but she guessed it didn’t matter. She had nothing to lose. 

Because even if she didn’t kill those men, which made her more relieved than she ever thought possible, she was filled with so much shame and doubt and fear—even though the mark hadn’t killed anyone yet, it still could. 

Katria closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her thoughts slide away as she fell asleep.

===

It was light out when Katria finally woke up. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. 

“Cole?” she said groggily, pushing herself up onto one elbow. She craned her neck around, but he was nowhere in sight. “Well, I would have given up on fixing me too,” she muttered.

Katria got to her feet, but stopped in a crouching position when her eyes scanned the area in front of her. There was no sign of the fire she made last night—no ashes, half-burnt logs, nothing. She slowly stood, reaching behind her back to grab her dagger. 

“What…” Katria spun around, surveying the forest around her. It wasn’t…It wasn’t where she was before. The trees were thinner here; they were ones that liked warmer weather, and the smell around her was different, it was less damp—Ferelden forests were always damp. 

This was a forest in the Free Marches. This was the forest outside Ostwick. 

“Cole!” Katria shouted, stumbling back. “Cole, what did you do?” 

Another hiss of air hinted at his presence. He appeared beside her, gazing at her from underneath his hat. 

“Don’t be afraid. It’s not like before. You’re safe in this part of the Fade.” 

“The _Fade_?” Katria choked out. She dropped her knife and brought her hands to her head. “No, no, no, I don’t want to be here. I-I can’t…” All the memories came flooding back; all the pain the Nightmare caused.

She heard another voice beside her. A familiar one. 

“You dropped this.” 

Katria looked up and her heart stopped. It was him. Fredrick. Standing right there, right in front of her. His brown eyes, Kate’s eyes, gazed at her, unassuming, as he held her dagger in his hand. 

“Get away from me, demon!” she spat, stepping back. “I know you’re not him!” 

Cole rushed forward. “It’s not a demon! It’s like me! But…I’m the wrong shape. More real.” He gestured to Fredrick. “You burn, you hurt so much, I knew it would want to help.” 

“A spirit?” Katria began, “A good one? Compassion?” She put her hand to her temple. “Cole, this is dangerous. What if a demon comes? Rage or despair or anything because I feel all of it!”

“I will protect you.” 

Katria looked back at Fredrick—or the spirit pretending to be him. He had seemed so big when she was ten. Now, Katria was taller than him, more weathered, while he remained the picture of youth. His beautiful skin, plumped, reddened cheeks; he still looked so much like a child. Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked away. She was responsible for taking such innocence from the world. 

“So, what was your plan than?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “Some spirit pretends to be my dead brother and everything’s okay?”

“No,” Cole said. “But it might help.” 

Katria stole a glance at the other spirit. It was unsettling. 

Fredrick approached her. “You haven’t let go of me, and it’s been more than twenty years.” 

She clenched her fist. She would not indulge this spirit. It wasn’t her brother. 

“You’re not going to help me.”

Fredrick shrugged. “Maybe. You’re biggest problem right now is you, Katria.” 

She snorted. “Yes, thank you, I realize that.” 

“No,” he said. “Your biggest problem is that you won’t _let go_ —you stand in the way of your own progress. You’ve spent your whole life blaming yourself for things that go wrong, and being in the Inquisition made it worse because you have more responsibility.” 

“Well, I’m sorry that I hold myself accountable for things that are my fault.” 

“My death wasn’t your fault,” Fredrick insisted. 

“You’re not my brother,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Fredrick was closer to her now. “You need to talk about it. And there are plenty of people who care enough about you to listen.” 

She frowned. “Provided the magic in my hand doesn’t kill them like it did you.” 

“Katria,” he said gently, and she bristled at how familiar the voice was. “I was going to die no matter what. Because that’s what happens, and it’s sad, but you can’t cling to it forever.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Think about all you’ve done as the Inquisitor. You have given my death meaning. My sacrifice made you a hero.” 

Katria took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. “E-Even if I believe you, even if I let go like you want, I still ran away. I abandoned my cause like a coward.” 

“You did leave,” he said, his grip loosening. “But you can’t just quit because you made a mistake. _That_ would make you a coward.”

“It’s not that easy,” Katria muttered, staring down at the ground. “Nothing is.” 

Fredrick sighed. “I know,” he said. “You have to stop being afraid that you aren’t good enough, stop being afraid to love those that matter to you.” 

Katria looked back at him and swallowed. She was letting herself believe it was really him—the same person who smiled so encouragingly at her when she was sad, who let her win at chess, who was brave and righteous and _dead_.

“I’m sorry that you died,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.” 

Fredrick leaned closer, smiling slightly. “I am so proud of you,” he said. “But it’s time for you to _wake up_.” 

Katria’s eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. She smelled smoke, the early morning dew on the grass. It was darker now, but the world felt more solid. She dropped her head into her hands. 

“Fuck.” She sniffed. “Fuck, that was so weird.” Fredrick had spoken to her. He’d touched her. But did that mean he absolved her?

Katria slid her boots through the dirt and raised her head up. It was time to own up to these emotions, instead of burying them. It was time to grow up, to keep moving, to look for ways to be happy because she deserved it. 

Cole was crouching on the other side of the now extinguished fire, barely visible in the light from the rising sun. 

“Is it time to go home now?” 

Katria took out her knife, looked at it, turning it between her hands. 

“I think so, Cole.” 

===

Katria had quite a bit of money left, so she returned to town to buy a horse. When the man recognized her, he tried to give the mount to her for free, but she insisted on paying. She then rode straight to Skyhold, stopping only when necessary. When she approached the gates at dawn on the fourth day, the guards there stopped her. 

“State your business,” one man said. 

Katria slid off her horse and pulled her hood back. “You mean other than running the Inquisition?” 

He reddened and began to sputter. “Y-Your Worship, I apologize, w-we weren’t told you would be returning to-,” 

She raised her hand and smiled slightly. “It’s alright.” Katria led her horse into the courtyard and draped her hood back over her head. She tracked down a messenger, who also looked shocked to see her. 

“I’d like you to wait about 45 minutes, then tell Leliana, Josephine and Cullen that I would want to meet them in the War Room. Alert them in that order. Wake them, if you have to, but I’m sure they’re up.”

The messenger saluted and scurried off, while Katria made her way as quickly as possible to her quarters. It was quiet, so she was not seen. 

Katria returned to her room, pausing at the top of the stairs to survey the area. It didn’t feel unfamiliar to her, but at the same time, it looked different from when she’d seen it last. She’d been in a fog since Adamant. It felt like weeks since she really, truly looked at the world around her without seeing or being reminded of something from the Fade. Katria imagined that would keep happening from time to time, but she would deal with it. She had to. 

She walked to the basin of water at the far side of the room, peeling off her clothes and enjoying the feeling of warm water against her skin. She bathed, managed to get a comb through her hair, and put on the robe draped over her dresser. Josephine had tried to give her some new-fangled silk dressing robe a few weeks ago, but she much preferred this large, fluffy one that reached down past her knees. Katria padded over to the bench in front of her bed and seated herself on it. 

The sound of her door flying open and smashing into the wall startled her. She bolted up as Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs, panting. When he saw her, his eyes widened. 

“Katria,” he choked out, taking a step forward. “You’re…” He shook his head. “I-I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in like this—is it…is it alright if I come in?” 

She nodded briefly, and he walked over. “Nothing happened to those-,” 

“I know, Cullen,” she said softly. 

He stopped in front of her. “You do?”

Katria looked away from him. “Cole told me.” She wrapped her hand around the collar of her robe. “But I still left. It was…deplorable. I’m supposed to…” 

Her skin began to crawl—how could she have let herself do something like that? She felt so unworthy. Katria tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed her arm. 

“I am not here to talk about the Inquisition,” he said. “I have spent all this time worried about _you_. Are you going to be alright?” 

She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know, Cullen. I think I’ll be okay now. I hope so. I…” 

“I promise that I will do anything in my power to help you,” he said, his fingers tightening around her arm. “Anything, Katria, I swear. I would do anything for you.” 

“Why?” she asked. “I _abandoned_ the Inquisition. I…I hurt you.” She reached up and fumbled with the chain around her neck where she kept his coin. “You should take this back, you probably-,” 

He pulled her hand away. “Please stop.” 

Katria clenched her jaw because she could feel tears threatening to break through. “What if I was never in any shape to truly or seriously be with anyone? You only got hurt.” 

Cullen’s grip on her loosened, his expression full of despair. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Katria stammered. “I’m so sorry.” She inhaled, but cut herself off when she gave a weak sob. She bowed her head to try and hide her tears, but Cullen grabbed her shaking shoulders and pulled her to him, his hands spanned across her back. Katria clung to him, her face buried in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. 

After a few moments, he sighed. “I can…leave you alone if you’d like.” 

She tightened her hold on him. “No, I-I…I care for you, more than anything, but I don’t want you to be hurt, a-and leaving was a huge mistake, and I know how important the Inquisition is to you. If you’re mad…” 

“Mad?” he said incredulously. “Katria, I’m not mad at you. I should have been here for you. You deserved that time alone, you needed it.” 

Katria pursed her lips. “You must have been furious. I _left_. Without saying anything. It was irresponsible. You should have…..” 

Cullen pulled back slightly, looking at her, his hand touching her cheek. 

“I was…I was frustrated for maybe an hour. Then I realized how stupid I was being and only cared about you coming back.” He embraced her tightly again. “I’m so glad you’re back.” 

Katria slipped from his grasp and sat down on the bench near them. He knelt down in front of her, and with her shoulders slumped, they were almost the same height. She reached up and ran her thumb along the stubble on his jaw. Her throat tightened—how could she have ever left him? Left the Inquisition?

“Everything is going to be alright,” he assured her, putting his palms on her legs. 

Katria leaned forward with her hands on his neck and kissed him. It was wonderful. It was everything she remembered. He let out a satisfied sigh against her lips and found her waist. 

She ran her fingers along his shoulder, feeling his taunt muscles through the fabric of his shirt. She leaned back. “You’re not wearing your armor.”

His cheeks turned pink. “Someone told me that it might be more comfortable if…” He cleared his throat and blushed more. “I wasn’t trying to imply, I only thought…” 

Katria grinned. “You thought I would stick around longer if I got a look at that handsome warrior musculature of yours?”

He smiled back at her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her off the bench and into his lap. 

“Cullen!” 

He clenched his hands in the fabric of her robe and squeezed her. “You were trying to be funny,” he murmured into her chest. 

“I was _succeeding_ at being funny,” she countered, tracing her fingers through his hair. Katria bit her lower lip. “You should probably let me go, though.” 

“Why?” 

Her legs were straddling his thighs, and she tried to wiggle backwards. “Well, I don’t have any smallclothes on so….” 

Cullen turned beet red. “Oh,” he said, hastily dropping his arms and urging her back onto the bench, where she pulled the edge of her robe over her knees. “Forgive me. I-I wasn’t, I mean, it’s not-,”

Katria gave a small laugh. “I didn’t realize the idea repelled you so much.”

He lifted himself up on his knees. “What? No! N-No, I…” He rubbed his neck. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve gotten out of practice dealing with being teased, Commander.” 

“Yes,” he admitted, chuckling. He rested his arm beside her thigh and leaned forward. “You will have to reacquaint me.” 

“Not bad,” Katria said. She rested her forehead against his. There were things on her mind, things she would have never talked about with anyone before, but she should be confiding in Cullen, shouldn’t she? He loved her, and she loved him back, if she ever worked up the courage to actually say it.

“I’m worried that some of my friends are upset with me,” she said. “I-I don’t know what I’m going to say to Leliana and Josephine. What if we lose allies because-,” 

Cullen moved his head so he could look at her. “You don’t have enough faith in how well you did your job before this. They all adore you, Katria.” He squeezed her leg. “You were just on a routine mission to them. For Andraste’s sake, Harding even sent me a message saying you closed a rift. There might be some people you have to talk to, who might doubt you, but you’ll prove how great you are, like always.”

She smiled slightly. “You seem biased.” 

He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. “Oh no, Inquisitor, that was my official assessment as your Commander.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “It’s all going to be alright, Katria. You just have to let us be there for you.” 

“I can do that,” she whispered. 

Cullen pulled back and furrowed his brow. “So, are you going to explain how _Cole_ got a hold of you and what he said?” 

She put her hands on his cheeks and grinned. “Yes, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I had to assume was that Cole could pull people into the Fade, like Solas can. Cole's an unusual spirit thing that can appear in the Inquisitor's head, so I figured why not, let's add Fade trips to his list of skills. I should return to shorter chapters more frequently now that this poorly executed exercise in seriousness (severity?) is complete.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Cullen left Katria’s quarters to let her change. He did so very reluctantly—he was afraid if he let her disappear from his sight, he’d lose her again. And, however inappropriate it was, the knowledge that she had nothing on under her robe, that he could pull just once at the knot at her waist and see her, all of her, drove him a little mad. He tried to bury such impure thoughts as he approached the War Room, tried to remind himself that he was Katria’s Commander, her advisor, and not just a man who thought frequently about what her long legs would look like wrapped around his waist.

Cullen shook his head and pushed through the door. He was immediately accosted by Leliana. “Is it true, Commander? She’s back?” 

“Yes,” he replied, trying not to smile. He joined her on the opposite side of the table. The door opened back up and Katria appeared, wearing a dark green tunic. Her brow was creased with uncertainty, but the rest of her was projecting confidence. 

Josephine put her writing board on the table and beamed. “Inquisitor!” She walked across the room and hugged Katria—very appropriately, as their Ambassador was prone to do. Across the shoulders, for just the right amount of time, applying the right pressure. She stepped back. 

“We are so pleased that you are unharmed.” 

“I…” Katria cleared her throat. “Thank you, Josie.” 

Josephine glided back over to the table and handed her a stack of reports. “These will update you on all Inquisition business of the last two weeks. Nothing problematic, I can assure you.” 

Katria joined her and accepted the rolls of parchment. “I will get to these immediately.” She placed them before her so she could put her hands behind her back. Her eyes flickered up to them. 

“I know any apology I give will look like weakness outside this room, but in here, you all deserve one from me.” Katria took a deep breath. “So, I’m sorry. I needed a break, time to process what happened to me, but I should have taken that time more responsibly. I deeply regret what I did.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve learned that I need to reach out more, and I will, but I can do this—this business of being the Inquisitor. I can beat Corypheus, I can be the person our followers need us to be. I am willing to give my life for this cause. I hope that you can forgive me.”

Josephine smiled slightly. “There’s nothing to forgive, Inquisitor.” 

“I agree,” Cullen added. 

Leliana shifted beside him. “As long as you’ve learned what needs to be done.” 

“I have,” Katria replied, seeming undeterred by the Spymaster’s cold response. “I’d like to keep with the schedule we made earlier and depart for the Emprise du Lion in three days.”

Cullen’s heart sank, although he hoped it didn’t show in his face. Three days was too soon. She needed to rest. She needed… _he_ needed her to stay with him. But he supposed that was selfish. 

Katria continued. “I’ll take Varric, Dorian and Bull with me.” 

“Not Seeker Pentaghast?” Josephine said.

Her eyes fell to the map. “We have made plans to travel to Caer Oswin to investigate the disappearance of Lord Seeker Lucius, but I don’t think she will want to travel with me otherwise unless it is absolutely necessary.” 

Katria furrowed her brow and looked back up. “Did Kate leave?” 

Josephine nodded. “Lady Montford departed yesterday. She remained in Skyhold a few extra days because she was worried for you.” 

She gave a short laugh. “No, seriously, why did she stay?”

“You sister was worried,” Josephine insisted. “We didn’t give her any details about your abrupt departure, but she is perceptive, as you know. She sensed something was wrong.” 

“I believe that, maybe,” Katria admitted. “But why would she care?” 

She shifted, a little awkwardly. “Inquisitor, your sister is the consummate Orlesian noble: wary, shrewd, selfish and vain. But, when you play the Game at her level for so long, like she has, it can be lonely. There’s no one she can truly trust and perhaps…” Josephine shrugged. “Perhaps she is tired of it. Maybe she’s reaching out to you, her last true family member.” 

Katria clenched her jaw. “I think it’s a little late for that.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

Her face softened. “Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s must be easy for her to reach out—she didn’t have to live like I did.” Katria ran her fingers through her damp hair. "Any other business to attend to?" 

They discussed various matters for a few hours--Corypheus' movements, needless political things, important military strategy, and her plans for the Emprise du Lion. Once Katria looked sufficiently tired, she rubbed her shoulders and sighed.

"That should be it for now. I will read these reports and finish preparations for the Emprise du Lion. Please let me know if you all need anything.” 

She gathered up the reports and headed for the door. Cullen hurried after her, but when he heard Leliana and Josephine giggling and saying something about a “love-sick puppy,” he threw a glare back at them and slowed down. 

Katria had stopped in the empty hallway outside the War Room. She smiled slightly at him, the light from the hole in the wall hitting her muddy blue eyes. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, pulled her up on her toes, and kissed her. 

“You did well,” he told her, his hands clasped behind her back and pinning her arms to her sides. 

Katria huffed. “I will tolerate the affection, but I can do without the condescension, my prince.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, grinning. “I can do without the nickname.”

She squirmed, and he released her, letting her fall back on the balls of her feet. She pulled her reports closer to her chest and pushed through the door that led to Josephine’s office. He followed her out into the Great Hall, almost colliding with someone who was approaching. 

It was some sort of messenger, dressed entirely too ornately to be from anywhere but Orlais. Two other servants were behind him, straining under the weight of a huge chest. 

The man looked first at Cullen, crinkling his nose, as if implying that he knew Cullen was Ferelden and had a certain smell because of it. He then turned to Katria and bowed slightly. 

“Inquisitor, I have a message from Lady Katerina de Montford.” 

Katria did only a decent job of hiding her disdain. She handed her reports to Cullen and accepted the letter. As she ran her thumb through the elegant seal and opened it, the two servants placed the chest at her feet with a thud. 

“Please don’t let it be dresses,” she said under her breath, as her eyes scanned the paper. He watched as her brows drew inward, her lower lip dropping down. 

“Inquisitor?” Cullen said.

Katria blinked a few times, her eyes trailing down to the chest. She looked very pale. 

The door behind them opened, and Josephine appeared, stopping when she saw them. She noticed the Inquisitor’s queasy expression and raised her eyebrows. 

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” 

Cullen reached down for the letter, but she jumped to attention and put her palm against her temple. “She returned it.” 

Katria frantically gestured for him to help her with the chest. Cullen knelt down and picked up one side, groaning under the weight. 

“Maker’s Breath, is this filled with iron?” 

Josephine held the door open for them and they set it down by her fireplace. Cullen stood up and shook out his hands. 

“Katria, what did your sister return?” he asked. 

She put her hands on her hips and sighed bitterly. “My inheritance.” 

Josephine’s eyes widened. “You mean?” She flipped open the latch. The chest was filled to the brim with gold. “Oh my.” 

Katria gestured to the letter. “My inheritance plus interest, actually.” She scratched the back of her head. “Well, she told her husband that it’s a donation, but, it’s in the amount of how much she took all those years ago.” 

“Why would she do something like this?” Cullen asked. 

Katria shrugged. “I don’t know. I mentioned that we were strapped for coin a few weeks ago when she wanted to replace all the upholstery in the dining hall.” 

“This is certainly enough money for that,” Josephine said, still crouching, fingering one of the coins. She stood and beamed. “I will deal personally with this influx, Inquisitor. Please let me know what portion you’d like me to set aside for you personally.” 

“What do you mean?” Katria asked.

She gestured down to the chest. “This is your money, Inquisitor. Not the Inquisition’s. I would think you would want some separate funds, for when this is over.” 

“Oh, no,” she said. “No. All of it can go into the treasury. Replace the upholstery, because we have to, I guess.” 

“Josephine has a point,” Cullen remarked. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I am,” she said, shrugging. “No point in putting my money aside for later. It’s needed now, and if we don’t use it, _later_ might be a world where Corypheus wins, and I’ll only have to pay someone to dig a hole in the ground for my body.”

That thought hit him straight in the gut, but at least Katria had returned to her nonchalant, reckless self about every subject, including the possibly of her death, which is something that gave him more nightmares. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen began. 

She raised her hand. “Crass, yes, I know. Thank you for handling this, Josie. I’m going to go stab something.” 

Katria headed for the Great Hall, and Josephine called after her. “Don’t forget to write your sister a letter expressing your gratitude!” 

She threw her hands up in exasperation before slamming the door behind her. Josephine returned to her desk. 

“Well, at least we know the Inquisitor is feeling better.”

===

Katria was in the courtyard throwing daggers at the training dummies outside the forge. She was using such force the knives were buried up to the hilt as she threw them. 

Her sister had a lot of nerve being so…generous. Kate was not a nice person. She played games to get what she wanted and didn’t care who got hurt in the process. That’s all she’d ever done. Katria was not going to forgive her sister because she felt lonely. She _was not_. 

A dagger hit the dummy in the chest with a satisfying _thunk_. Katria reached for her belt, but she’d thrown all her weapons. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring down at the grass swaying between her boots. 

“Hello, Inquisitor,” a voice said from behind her. 

Katria turned her head. It was Cassandra, standing with her sword in one hand, her face expressionless. 

The Seeker approached her. “I did not realize you had returned.” 

She ran her sleeve along her lip. “Yes, and in one piece.” Katria walked over to the training dummy, yanking out her daggers. “Well, let’s hear it, Pentaghast. Tell me how irresponsible I am. Tell me how disappointed you are, how unfit I am for this job, how I should immediately step down and let a _real_ hero be in charge.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I want to tell you some of those things. I want to tell you how mad I am.” 

“So what’s stopping you?” Katria asked. “You always say what you want, regardless of the consequences.” 

“Because I think I should apologize first,” she said, standing beside her. “I know that I can be blunt, difficult and self-righteous, and I was all those things after what happened in the Fade.” Cassandra rubbed the back of her head. “I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew that while I may not always agree with your decisions, I still support you. I am sorry.” 

“Support the Inquisitor, you mean,” Katria said. “I do understand that. But I thought that we were friends.” 

She smiled slightly. “You must know that I have never been very good at having friends.” 

“It’s a process,” she replied, turning to face her. “A process that requires us to share our feelings on occasion. So whether you like it or not, you’re my friend. Deal with it.” 

“I feel the same,” Cassandra said. “I will try to be less blunt in the future.” She hesitated and then put her sword down in the grass, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Katria’s shoulders. 

“I am pleased you have returned and I hope you are feeling better.” 

“What’s…What’s happening right now?” Katria asked. 

“I am hugging you. It is comforting.” 

“I’m a little frightened.” 

Cassandra huffed and pulled away. She couldn’t hide her smile. “The Inquisitor was _hilarious_ ,” she said sarcastically. “That’s what they’ll say one day, you watch.”

Katria gave a crooked grin. “Don’t get my hopes up.”

===

Katria and Cassandra sparred for about an hour, before Cass was called away on business—mostly just being bothered by various Chantry sisters about this next-Divine issue, which put a frown on the Seeker’s face every time it came up. Katria remained in the courtyard, but moved to the area by the stables where Heir normally worked with her. The training dummies had been set in a circle, so Katria could practice her new skills at different angles. She was probably practicing too much, she knew that, but it was better than sitting around and talking about politics. It was only a few hours after dawn, so Katria figured that fun activity could wait until the afternoon.

Yet as she practiced, people continued to find her. Including Dorian, who fortunately had little to say about her departure. 

“I found the most exquisite Antivan white the other day,” he remarked, leaning against one of the dummies with his legs crossed. “I meant to save some for you, and then I drank it.” 

Katria had three small daggers spaced between her fingers and threw them. They each hit a critical point. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked. 

“I’ll get us another one,” he said. “Heard the Inquisition received a generous donation from one Lady Montford.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise. “I am not talking about that,” she said, turning her back to him to throw a dagger in the opposite direction. She spun herself around. “Nope, sorry, I’m supposed to talk about it. I am _furious_.” 

“Money buys happiness, my dear, you shouldn’t be mad.” 

“Well, I am,” she snapped, approaching him. “I mean, the nerve of her! How dare she!” 

“Yes, how dare she be so generous.” He put his hand to his chest. “The audacity.” 

Katria shook her head. “No, she’s not being generous. She’s still—she’s still playing the Game. Somehow. I know it.” 

Dorian brushed some dirt off his new armored robe. “People can change. That’s sort of how you worked, I thought. Thinking that about people. Which is why you haven’t cut off any heads so inelegantly with that dragon sword of yours.” 

“People _can_ change,” Katria said. “But not her. Not Kate.” 

Dorian raised his hands. “I understand. You’ve hated her for ten years, and it’s hard to let go of that. But you must remember something.” 

“What is that?” 

He gestured to his new outfit. “She has _impeccable_ taste, and I would hate to lose her as an ally because I’ve never dressed better.” 

“Hope that new outfit of yours is warm,” Katria said, not able to hold back a smirk. “Because now I’m definitely taking you with me to the Emprise du Lion in three days.” 

Dorian crinkled his nose. “You’ve gone mad with power, I see.” 

Katria pulled her knives out of the dummy. “Or just mad in general.” 

He shifted to a standing position as she walked back to the center of her training area. “Three days seems very soon. How does Cullen feel about that?” 

“I'm going to shut down Samson’s red lyrium mine,” she said. “To be honest, I bet he’s elated.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “How oblivious are you to that man’s love for you?”

Katria was throwing a dagger and stumbled—her blade missed the dummy and clattered into the well near them, where Master Dennet was drawing water for his horses. He dropped the bucket he was holding and leapt back. 

“Inquisition!” he sputtered. 

Katria put her hand in her hair. “Sorry!” she exclaimed sheepishly. 

Dorian looked at her pointedly. “You have a problem.” 

She glared at him. “Yes, you keep distracting me.” 

He walked over to her, poking her with his fingers. “No. Your problem is love, my dear. Love, love, love. He loves you.” 

Katria swatted him away and turned. “Leave me alone! Have you been aging in reverse since I left?” 

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “How could you not know how he feels? He was positively beside himself while you were gone. Quite the grump.” 

She whirled around and threw her blade at the dummy beside her. “I do know, alright? He told me.” 

“So what?” 

“So…” Katria spun her remaining dagger around her hand. “So, don’t you think Cullen should be with someone else? Someone…” She sighed impatiently. “Did you know he prays every day? I see him, when I’m in the garden in the mornings, going to the Chantry like a good Templar. The only thing _I’ve_ ever done in a Chantry is lose my virginity.” 

Dorian made a strangled noise and dropped his arms. He looked up at her with his brows raised. “You never cease to surprise me.” 

“That’s the point,” she said, shaking her head. “Look at me, look at _this_.” She grabbed the bottom of her green, embroidered tunic that was wrinkled and covered in dirt. “I am crass, the picture of the phrase unladylike, and it’s not even like I could be described as ruggedly beautiful. Also, you and I both have a serious drinking problem, which can’t be good.”

“I categorically deny that,” Dorian said. 

Katria rubbed the back of her neck and began pacing. “I overheard him at the Winter Palace. Do you know what Cullen said when someone asked him if he was married? Not yet.” 

She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “ _Not yet_! Any wholly virtuous, young, smart, large-breasted woman who’s actually compatible with Cullen would have been _elated_ to hear that. But I was filled with terror.” 

He scrutinized her. “You have a well-endowed chest, my dear, nothing to worry about. Now, your rear leaves something to be-,” 

“Dorian!” she said exasperatedly. 

“What?” he said. “What is it you want? You want me to deny that even though you left and now everything _seems_ better, you still have huge issues with emotional intimacy, which _includes_ discussions about marriage or love.” Dorian patted her cheek. “You’re spinning reasons about why you are not ‘compatible’ with him because you’re afraid to commit.” 

“That’s—that’s not true,” Katria muttered.

“So let’s talk about marriage,” he suggested. “Settling down. Sharing a bed with a man. Having a child.” 

“I am going to stab you.”

Dorian smiled. “Thank you for proving my point,” he said. “But I also think you’re a little serious about stabbing me, so I should leave you be.” He walked away with a flourish, but Katria did not watch him go.

She tightened her grip around her knife, letting her shoulders slump as she stared at the ground. Her boots had smashed the long blades of grass around her. Katria massaged the space between her eyebrows. She knew she should not be worrying—Cullen hadn’t even said the word marriage to her face. Just that he loved her. Which was fine. Because she loved him back? She did—well, as far as she understood what _love_ was never having felt it before for a man. 

Katria threw her final dagger. It landed on the left side of the dummy’s chest. She sort of wanted to leave for the Emprise du Lion, right now, which made her grunt because Dorian was clearly right about her.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

Katria spent a miserable six weeks in the Emprise du Lion—the environment was cold, riddled with red lyrium, and shutting down the quarry as well as capturing Suledin Keep left her exhausted and eager to return home. If she ever saw another red-lyrium infested giant in her life, it would be too soon. Rather than meeting in the War Room upon her return, Katria went to her quarters for a bath, which she lounged in until the water was completely cold. 

She put on a navy blue tunic because it hid stains well, and then sat at her desk to read over a stack of reports Josephine had left for her. The door across the room opened, and Cullen’s unmistakable heavy steps ascended the stairs. 

“Inquisitor!” he began, his eyes on a report in his hand. “I’ve been reading the letters you forwarded from the quarry.”

She raised an eyebrow and stood. “You have the oddest way of saying hello, Commander.” 

Cullen looked up. “Oh, ah, of course…” He put Samson’s letters on her desk and snaked his arms around her, kissing her soundly on the mouth. He pulled away quickly and frowned. 

“I cannot believe Samson is making red lyrium from people.”

Katria turned back to her desk. “Well, at least I got a few seconds in,” she muttered. She sighed. “They’re not making red lyrium anymore. Not in that mine.” 

Cullen began pacing. “I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous.” He clenched his fist. “We _have_ to put an end to him.”

“We will,” she assured him.

It was as if he hadn’t even heard her. He thrust Samson’s letters towards her. “Look at these orders from the encampment. That armor must give Samson extraordinary power. We may not be able to stop him.” 

“Take away his armor and his lyrium and Samson’s just another man,” Katria said. “An asshole, sure, but definitely killable.” 

“His armor must be enchanted in some way,” he began, running his palm along his stubble. “I will speak to Dagna—she crafts the impossible every day. She might be able to help us.” Cullen kissed her cheek. “I will go speak to her immediately.” 

“Wait, wait,” Katria said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Cullen, I know this business with Samson is important to you, but I haven’t seen you in so long. Please don’t go. I missed you.”

“I really should address…” He trailed off, his eyes searching her face. He gave her a half-smile. “I guess I could stay for a few more moments.” 

“Thank you,” she said. “It means a lot to me.” Katria pushed herself onto her toes and buried her hands in the fur of his coat. She thought about how desperately she missed him and how handsome he was and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. 

Cullen responded with equal fervor, until she began dragging him by his coat to her bed. He pulled back. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m taking you to the side of the room where I get to be myself,” she said. “Away from _yes, Inquisitor_ or _good work, Commander_ so it can be just Cullen and Katria and maybe even you without your armor if I’m persuasive enough.” 

“Oh,” he said, his cheeks red. “Y-Yes, I would—that is, you are very persuasive.” Cullen slid his hands down her spine, over her backside, until he had the leverage to hoist her up with her legs around his waist. 

She squeaked. “Cullen, I am entirely too tall for-,” He kissed her, which shut her up, and walked the rest of the way to her bed. He got a better grip on her thighs and tossed her into it, her body sinking into the mass of Josephine-approved decorative pillows adorning her headboard. She began shoving them away en masse to give them more room. Katria then hooked her foot around his leg and pulled him onto the bed over her. She gripped him by his hair and pulled his mouth down onto hers. She enjoyed the way his lips worked against hers for a few harried minutes before the idea of his armor separating them was entirely intolerable. 

Katria reached down and tried to unbuckle any part of the massive network of metal surrounding him before he pulled back and put his hand on her face. “I can help with that,” he said breathlessly. He paused and kissed her briefly again. “I know this didn’t…go well the last time I said it, but you should know I still feel the same way about you, Katria. I love you.” 

She felt like his hand was clenching her throat rather than the fabric of her tunic. Katria inhaled through her nose and yanked him into another kiss. He obliged her for a few moments before breaking away from her. 

“I don’t know if you…feel a similar way.” 

“I…” Katria ran her hands down his face. She suddenly felt like the world was shrinking around her, his breastplate pressing down on her chest, surrounded by stupid embroidered pillows on all sides. “I would like to get up now.” 

She squirmed and slid out from under him. Her hand rose to the back of her head as she turned away from him towards her balcony. 

“So, you were saying about Samson….” 

Cullen sat up. “For Andraste’s sake, Katria.” He gave a low growl and stood. “I refuse to keep doing this with you. I know these things are new, and maybe scary, but you are important to me. I’d like to—I thought that I had found someone who I could have a future with. I’m not interested in simply…” 

Katria slid her palms along her arms. Maker, what now? She sighed. “Cullen, I’m-,” 

She was cut off by the sound of the door flying open below them. A loud sobbing noise carried up the stairs, and Katria spun around. Bailey appeared, her fox wrapped in one arm and pressed to her chest, her other hand dangling at her side. Her face was beet red and scrunched up as tears poured down her cheeks. She ran over to Katria, who immediately knelt down and grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes flickered over to Cullen, and he walked over and crouched down beside her. 

“Bailey,” Katria said gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Come on, little duck, it’s okay, just breathe, tell me what’s wrong.” 

The little girl heaved and shook her head, bringing her other hand up to her fox. Her knuckles were bloody. 

“What happened?” she asked more urgently, grabbing her palm. “Who did this to you?” 

“H-He tried to t-take…” Katria shushed her when the little girl broke down further, pulling her head against her chest and stroking her blonde hair. “Alright, here we go, it’s okay. No one is going to take anything from you. You’re safe, just calm down.” 

“What did someone try to take?” Cullen asked. 

“My fox!” she wailed. “He tried t-to take my fox!” 

Katria pulled back and held her by the shoulders. “You need to calm down so that I can help you and understand what’s going on.” 

Bailey sniffled. “I-I was showing s-stupid Baldewin the t-tricks my fox can do, a-and he said he liked it.” She wiped one of her eyes. “H-He said he wanted my fox. He’s a d-dumb noble, and he s-said I was just a d-dirty Ferelden peasant and that if he wanted it, he could h-have it.” 

“So what happened?” Katria asked.

“I punched him.” 

“Ah,” she said. “That explains your hand.” 

Bailey’s lower lip began to tremble. “B-Baldewin got really mad. His nose was all bloody. He s-said he was going to tell his father, who’s going to have me killed!” 

Katria tutted. “No one is going to hurt you, little duck. He’s just a little noble shit. They say those things sometimes.” She pulled her back against her chest and sighed. “Do you know who Baldewin’s father is?” 

Bailey snuggled into her shirt. “A-Abernache?” 

“Fuck,” Katria mouthed over the little girl's head, using her other hand to rub her temple. Lord fucking Abernache. That’s all she needed. Some impossible noble with enough influence to make her life difficult if his precious son still wanted Bailey’s fox. 

“Let’s go find our Lady Ambassador,” Katria said, soothing down her hair. “She will be able to sort this out.” 

Bailey spun away. “Promise no one can have my fox?” 

“Nothing will happen,” Katria assured her. “Why don’t you give it over to Cullen? He’ll hold it, look intimidating, he’s good at that.” 

She shook her head and hoisted the fox into Katria's arms. “No, you get the fox.” She wrapped her arms around Cullen’s neck, ignoring his surprised expression. “Cullen will carry me so then _I’ll_ look intimidating too.” 

Katria stood, letting the fox rest its belly along her forearm, its paws dangling on either side. “Well, we can do it that way too.” 

Cullen followed her, holding Bailey on his other side as he leaned into her. “What exactly is your plan?” he whispered. 

“Just…follow my lead,” she replied. She leaned forward and glanced at Bailey. “You too, little duck.” 

Katria hurried down the stairs to the door. She pushed it open with her shoulder, then stopped when Josephine appeared. 

“Inquisitor!” she began. “I need to discuss…” She stopped when she spotted the fox in her arms. “Ah, I see you have been appraised of the situation.” 

Behind her, a masked Orlesian, on the short side, and thin, and a young boy with a bandage across his nose stood with angry expressions on their faces. 

“That’s her!” the boy exclaimed. “That’s the dirty peasant who punched me!” 

“Well, you have a stupid-,” Cullen muffled Bailey with his glove to keep her from finishing her insult. 

The boy stamped his foot. “I want that fox!” 

Lord Abernache rested his elbow in his palm. “Lady Montilyet, I have no time for this. It’s just an animal, simply give it to my son. This Ferelden has no use for it. We will accept any price.” 

Katria gave a polite smile and knelt down in front of Baldewin. “So you like her fox, huh?” 

The boy regarded her warily, then nodded. “Yes. I want it.” 

She shrugged, absentmindedly running her fingers between the fox’s ears. “I guess this thing does some alright tricks. But, maybe you and Bailey have had some discussions about…dragons?” 

He frowned. “Yes, I like dragons. I even have a dragon scale,” he said smugly and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have a dragon, though.” 

Katria nodded. “You’re right, I don’t. But I _did_ just find myself a dracolisk. It’s a mount that is basically like a dragon. Would you like to ride a dragon?” 

“I guess,” Baldewin said, his expression softening just a little, excitement glinting in his eyes. 

“I could give it to you, even,” she said. “You could take it home to Orlais, show it off to your friends. I mean, you can find foxes anywhere, but a rare dracolisk?” 

Bailey gasped from behind her. “No! Not the dracolisk! Please don’t give it away!”

Katria turned to her. “I’m sorry, but this is your doing. You harmed the son of a very prominent noble who is an indispensable ally to the Inquisition. If he wants the dracolisk, he can have it.” 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen began. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It is such a rare and valuable mount.” 

“I don’t see how we have a choice,” Katria said, raising her free hand. “We’re over a barrel here.” She turned back around to Baldewin. “What do you say? I’ll let you take the dracolisk home, and we’ll keep this dumb fox and the mouthy Ferelden here.” 

“Inquisitor, please!” Bailey cried. “Not the dracolisk!” 

Baldewin stuck out his hand with a triumphant grin. “You have a deal!” 

Katria shook his hand and stood. “I’m so pleased.” She gave a slight bow to Lord Abernache. “I do so hope you have a safe journey back to Val Royeaux, and we are thankful for your contributions to our cause. I expect we will continue to show our gratitude to you in the future.” 

Abernache pursed his lips. “Yes, well, as long as Baldewin is satisfied.” 

Katria gave a small nod to Josephine, who was leading Abernache and his son away to a reception or tea party or some other useless diplomatic event. She headed back to her quarters and dropped the fox on the ground. It sat down and waited patiently for Bailey to arrive at the top of the stairs. She wrapped it into her arms once Cullen put her down. 

“That was amazing!” she gushed. “You are so smart!” 

Katria snorted. “Yes, diplomatic genius, manipulating a ten year old boy like that.” She shrugged. “At least we got rid of that demonic, nippy dracolisk. Dennet will sing my praises.” 

She beamed. “And I got to keep my fox!”

Katria was at her desk and turned, resting her palm against it. “Bailey, you really shouldn’t have punched Baldewin. Violence is not the answer.” 

“That is literally the opposite of everything you have ever done or told me,” Bailey said, which made Cullen snort. 

She glared at him, then raised a hand to Bailey. “Okay, violence is not _always_ the answer. Like in this instance.” 

“But he was trying to steal my _fox_ ,” she insisted.

“You can’t just knock the shit out of people who want your stuff,” Katria replied. 

“That is all you ever do!” Bailey protested. 

“Alright, alright,” she said. “I am not the standard for morality here!” Katria put her hand on her chest. “I am the Inquisitor, so I’m allowed to be violent. You’re not the Inquisitor.” 

“If I were the Inquisitor, I’d have a million foxes,” Bailey grumbled.

Katria walked over to her and ruffled her hair. “I’ll bring that proposal to my advisors in the War Room at once.” 

She swatted Katria away, then hugged her around the waist. “Thanks for helping me. You’re the best.” 

Katria knelt down and squeezed her tightly, her chin resting on her shoulder. “You know I’d do anything for you, little duck.” 

“I love you,” the girl muttered. 

Katria gave her a squeeze. “I love you, too.”

Cullen had walked over to her desk. He gathered up Samson’s letters and cleared his throat. “I will let you know what Dagna says about Samson’s armor.” 

She released Bailey and lifted her head. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room. 

“Oh, I thought-,” 

“By your leave, Inquisitor.” 

Cullen disappeared down the stairs and Katria slid her hand down her face. Apparently Cullen had not forgotten her complete inability to be a competent, emotional person. How hard was it, really? How come she couldn't just say it? I love you, Cullen. She'd said it to Bailey, which was different of course, but it must have hurt him to hear it. But loving Bailey--being the equivalent of her "fun aunt"-- or even loving Dorian, Varric, Cass, her other friends, was not like loving Cullen. If she loved Cullen, it meant what he said. That there was maybe a future out there for them. Which had been fine to swallow when the future hung so delicately in the balance, but with all these 'significant blows' the Inquisition was striking against Corypheus, she was making the world into a place where this future was actually possible. Saying she loved Cullen meant she might want to be with him even after it was all over. 

Katria closed her eyes and tried to think about what that would be like--the afterwards, the being in love with Cullen. Is that what she really wanted? She'd spent so much time traveling and being the Inquisitor, it had been easy to avoid the idea thus far. But what was the alternative? She found herself clenching her fist at even the possibility of being without him. She ached for him enough when she left Skyhold, even knowing that he was waiting for her. To lose him completely? To never...

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Maker, what have I done?" 

Bailey tugged on her tunic. “Let me braid your hair. It will make you feel better.” 

Katria slumped down on the bed. She doubted running to Cullen right now would solve anything. “Fine.” 

She jumped up and kneeled behind her, pulling at her half-dried hair. Bailey began to hum as Katria fiddled with her fingers. She finished in a matter of minutes. The little girl rested her cheek against Katria’s back. 

“How come Cullen’s mad at you?” 

Perceptive child. Which was frustrating. “Because I’m an idiot.” 

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she said. 

“Oh, I am,” Katria replied. “But I can fix it. I have to, at least.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Bailey said, running her fingers down her new braid. “He loves you!” 

She rested her forehead in her palms. “Yes. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for yall's comments/kudos/awesomeness as always!


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, campers. There might also be feelings involved. *disgusted noise* 
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading!

Katria did not work up the courage to approach Cullen’s office until nightfall, which wasn’t too much of a problem because, as usual, there were a million things for her to do and simply not enough hours in the day. Finally, she crept from Solas’ study to his tower, but when she got close to his door, she heard a series of voices. He was in some sort of meeting. Katria slipped into the room unnoticed, because of her skill set, and because his soldiers were paying rapt attention to the map and other reports on his desk. She pressed herself against the wall, in the hopes that she would remain unacknowledged.

Cullen was speaking to one of his lieutenants. “Rylen’s men will monitor the situation.” 

The woman saluted. “Yes, ser. We will begin preparations at once.” 

He handed her back a report he had signed, his gaze only moving to his desk. “In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to…” He paused for the briefest of moments, his eyes locking with hers before she looked away. “…assist with the relief effort.” 

Cullen cleared his throat and straightened. “That will be all.” 

The soldiers began filing out the door beside her, and her anxiety grew. They would be alone in a moment, and then what? Would he be angry with her? Tell her he wanted nothing to do with her?

Eventually, the door creaked shut. Cullen remained at his desk. 

“I’m very busy, Inquisitor.” 

“Well, I have a very big problem,” she blurted out. 

He looked up at that. “What is it?” 

She bit her lip. “I-I’m sort of desperately in love with a man who is very sweet but also very serious, and I’m having trouble communicating that to him.” 

Cullen scrutinized her, his face unreadable in the torch light. “You could always make a joke about it—you’re good at that,” he said.

Katria winced. “So, you’re upset with me?”

He dropped the papers in his hands with a sigh. “I don’t…know.” 

She fidgeted with her fingers. That certainly wasn’t the worst answer she could have received.

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Katria, when I started that conversation with you today, it wasn’t about love. I just—I just wanted to make sure that we were going in the right direction. That this wasn’t just a fling to you. I hoped for at least _some_ indication that I meant more to you than…than just someone who you take to bed with you.”

She walked across the room to his desk, leaning hesitantly against it as he continued. “When you tried to deflect the conversation, it upset me. And then…” 

Cullen turned away and rubbed his neck. His voice lowered. “All I’ve wanted for months is to hear you say it. Because I’ve been afraid—how could a woman like you ever want to be with someone so complicated and broken?” He ran his gloved hands across his eyes. “I heard you with Bailey—I _know_ it’s not the same, but it’s the same words, a-and, Maker, it killed me. It’s stupid, I know.”

Katria had her fingers pressed to her mouth. Her throat felt tight, her eyes glassy. If she made a single move, she feared she’d break into a useless fit of tears. She took a shaky breath. 

“It’s not stupid, Cullen. I never meant to hurt you. I would never want you to feel like that. I—I _really_ messed up.” 

She rubbed her face with both hands. “I have been content with being alone for a long time. Not because I wanted it, but because I had no choice. I trained myself to never love or get attached and to live my life pretending everything was fine and perfect and funny. To be honest, I liked it that way.” Katria lifted her head and looked at him. “Then you came along, you giant, stammering _prince_ of a man, and suddenly I didn’t want to live like that.”

She pushed herself from the desk. “It’s all of you—this whole fucking Inquisition. Cass and her insufferable bluntness, Dorian and Varric who just _get_ me, sweet, brave Bailey.” Katria grasped at her hair. “I haven’t had a real family in a long time, and you all are my family now, and I am being pinned down, and I can’t escape anymore, and I don’t _want_ to. It’s all a little frightening. Good frightening. Not bad, Nightmare demon frightening, although I still feel that from time to-,” She stopped. “I’m…rambling now.” 

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk about your feelings, so you can continue all night if you’d like,” Cullen said. 

Katria approached him at the desk again. “That is kind of you, but I know you have little patience, and I came here for a very specific reason.” She stood in front of him, wringing her fingers in front of her stomach. “I came to tell you that I love you, Cullen. I really do. And, I suppose I just did?” She looked at him—the intensity of it, of this moment, was unlike anything she’d felt before. “I love you.” 

“Are you serious?” Cullen asked. 

“Rarely.” Katria reddened. “I-I mean, yes, right now. I am.” 

Cullen grinned. “Maker’s breath,” he said, exhaling deeply before he put his hands on her face and kissed her, desperately, prying her mouth open and pinning her back against his desk. His touch sent what felt like an electric current right down her spine because she was locked in the embrace of the man that she _loved_. Despite how tedious and nerve-racking sharing that feeling had been. 

Katria clung to him, burying her fingers in his hair, as his hands ran over her chest. She guessed she could get used to the benefits of telling Cullen she loved him—it made him much more confident about showing his affection for her, it seemed. 

Cullen pulled away from her with a very concerted effort, but stayed close. His knee was wedged between her legs as she leaned on the desk, and they were both out of breath. 

“I love you, too,” he said quietly. 

“Yes, I realize that.” 

“No, I mean, I-I _love_ you, Katria,” he insisted, squeezing her for emphasis. “When this is all over, I won’t want to move on, not from you.”

Katria had thought about what her life would be like moving on from him, and it wasn’t anything she wanted, not in that moment. She tightened her grip on his fur mantle and looked at him and _Maker_ , what those brown eyes of his did to her…

“I won’t want to move on, either,” she said, touching his cheek. “So…” 

“So,” Cullen repeated and then he swallowed. He hastily let go of her. “So I will lock the doors.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Lock the…” Her eyes followed him as he hurried to his bookshelf, grabbed a key that sat among a litter of trinkets, and then turned the locks on all three of his doors. Cullen returned to his desk.

“Is that alright?” he asked. He was blushing. “That is, I don’t want to…” 

Katria’s mouth was dry. “That is…that…” She expected something witty to come to mind, but she was apparently too distracted by how badly she wanted him to think of anything. “Maker, just come over here and kiss me, please.”

Cullen took two steps forward and wrapped her in his arms, bringing his mouth down on hers with an intensity she assumed was equal to the way he approached an opponent in battle. He pushed her against the desk so she was sitting on it. 

“More than kiss me,” she said when she needed to take a breath. “Do other things to me too.” 

He slid his hand along the inside of her thigh. “I plan to.”

She whimpered—Cullen was simply _not_ allowed to be charming while also being so handsome. She moved her hand behind her to situate herself better, but her arm knocked a bottle off the desk. Katria broke away from Cullen and looked at the pieces of glass now scattered across the floor. 

“Oh, I hope that wasn’t expensive liquor…” 

“You would say that,” he muttered, kissing her along the neck. She shivered, and he stepped back. The edge of his lip flicked up in a small smile before he reached out and swept all the rest of his things off his desk—quills, letters, ink wells, and other bottles all went flying. 

Katria stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, then smiled wryly. “I didn’t think a good Chantry boy like you would want to defile your sacred work space this way.”

Cullen put his hands behind her so he was leaning into her. “You underestimate how often I’ve thought of you in this way while I sit at this desk.” 

She ran her foot up his leg. “So, I can be a little distracting at times?” 

“You have no idea,” he said in a low voice. 

Katria had what she felt like was the stupidest smile on her face. “I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate how much I love you.” 

She scooted back on the desk as Cullen climbed over her. She put her hands on his face and kissed him, hungry for his tongue against hers, the scratch of his stubble on her chin. His armor pushed against her chest, the cold of it biting, while she felt warmth through his breeches. The fact that she had that effect on him drove her mad. 

Katria raked her fingers through his hair, down his neck, before her hands were against the metal of his breastplate. Maker, she hated his armor. Hated, hated, _hated_ it. She wanted him now, ten seconds from now—she wanted to feel his calloused hands on her skin, not the leather of his gloves. She used her leverage to push him away. 

“So, do you think you’ll have this armor off within the hour, or would you like time to polish it too?” 

Cullen looked dazed for a moment, panting, his eyes dark. He slid off the desk onto his feet, fumbling with his gauntlets. He got one off, letting it clatter to the floor. Just as he ripped off his glove, Katria pulled her tunic over her head and unbound her breast band with a practiced motion. Cullen stopped what he was doing to look at her. He then grabbed her waist with his still gloved hand, drawing her into a frantic kiss while his palm slid up her stomach and cupped her breast. Katria used the edge of the desk to help pry one boot off, stopping to moan and arch her back when he slid his hand between her legs. 

She removed the other offending article of footwear, as he pulled her close to kiss her neck, then suck on the sensitive skin along her jawline below her ear which would definitely leave a mark and she would _never_ hear the end of it from Varric and Dorian, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

The cool leather of his glove was pressing against her back, and she tugged on his arm. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up on your armor, already, Cullen. You don’t strike me as a quitter.” 

He leaned back, his lips red, nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply through them. 

“So you make jokes during sex, too, I guess?” he said. 

She cracked a smile. “On occasion.” Katria reached down and soundly grabbed his cock through his breeches, squeezing it and feeling it twitch in her hand. “It’s not fun otherwise. But if you’d prefer, I can talk to you in a very sultry, serious manner about how badly I want you fuck me.”

Cullen made a low growl in his throat and shoved his hand into her hair, ruining her braid, his open mouth capturing hers in a searing kiss she did not pull away from for a long time. She removed her hand from his breeches and scooted forward to rub herself against him. 

Katria could eventually hear him groping for the clasps on his other gauntlet, heard it clang against its mate on the floor. He slid his hands down her chest, his mouth following, and she moaned and fell against the desk on her back. Cullen leaned over her, his fingers trailing along her scar, reaching for her breeches, but she beat him there, her fingers unlacing the front of them, impatiently trying to tug them over her hips. 

Cullen helped her, wrapping his hands around the top of them and yanking them off in one motion. He dropped them to the ground, then paused, just looking at her with his brow creased. 

“You’re…very beautiful,” he said.

Katria sat up, wrapping her legs around his waist while leaving enough room so she could surrender his coat from him. 

“Thank you,” she said. “But now’s not the time, my prince.” She could feel the heat, the desperation for him growing in her, coiling in her stomach. Cullen began frantically working on the latches of his breastplate, but she shook her head, pulling on his breeches. 

“Don’t bother.” Her fingers reached inside, past his smalls, and she bit down hard on her lip. “I need you _now_ , Cullen. Just…” 

The sound he made was positively desperate. “Yes,” he breathed. “Oh, Maker, Katria.” Cullen tugged the laces apart and clambered over her as she laid back against the desk. He put his hand beside her head and pushed himself all the way into her with a ragged groan. Katria cried out—much too loud, but if Cullen wanted this on his desk in his office, that’s what he was going to get, she supposed. 

She buried one hand in his hair and put the other on his shoulder. Her legs wound around him, angling herself with his powerful thrusts. It was…It felt different. Katria had never seen sex and love as interrelated before. She’d slept with men, in Ferelden because she was lonely, in a part of her life when she wanted to manipulate, but they were all people she didn’t truly care for, and it was alright, good sometimes, even. 

But she did love Cullen, and it was so electrifyingly, satisfyingly better that way. His familiar smell—armor polish, smoke, that salve he pretended he didn’t use for his hair— enveloped her. Those strong arms that had held her when she’d almost lost herself also held her now. The mouth that smiled at her stupid jokes pressed kisses along her neck and groaned in her ear.

Katria dug her fingernails into his hair, bucking underneath him, her head slamming into the desk as she arched her back. He grabbed her hip in one hand and pressed her down as he drove into her. 

She made a fractured noise, her toes curling from the pleasure. Katria whispered all manner of obscenities, until her voice rose. “Cullen—oh, _Cullen_!”

He kissed her hard, probably to quiet her down. His mouth was cold. Cullen pulled away to let out a low moan. 

His eyes closed in those final moments, and Katria dug her heels harder into his back, all her muscles clenching, letting out a breathless, silent gasp as she unraveled under him. The intensity of it was almost paralyzing. Cullen groaned and whispered her name afterwards, thrusting hard a few final times until he came. The muscles in his arms began to tremble, and he collapsed over her, panting. 

They laid there in silence for a few moments—Katria stroked his hair, drawing her arm across his shoulder and giving a deep sigh. 

When she felt that dizzying haze lifting, she giggled. “How are you going to speak to me at this desk ever again?” 

“Not without a tremendous amount of effort,” he said, heaving himself back up so he wasn’t crushing her with his breastplate. 

Katria grinned and moved to sit up on the desk, rubbing her hands along her arms, now acutely aware of how entirely naked she was. Cullen was righting himself, and then reached out to her. 

“You look cold. Would you like my coat?” 

She snorted, sliding off the desk and reaching for her tunic. “I have no interest in looking like a bear cub with mange.” 

Katria slid her shirt over her head and felt Cullen’s arms circling her. She leaned into him as he buried his face in her hair. 

“I’m going to tell you I love you now,” he whispered. He kissed her along the side of her face and slid his hand all the way down her back. He sighed. “I love you so much, Katria.” 

She leaned back. “Well, I’m going to go upstairs to your bed and wait for you to come join me.” She gestured to the wake of destruction around his desk. “Because I’m not helping you clean all that up.” 

She grabbed her boots and pants, holding them in one hand as she climbed his ladder. Katria stopped and peeked at him between the rungs, draping her arm over one of them. 

“Cullen?” 

He had haphazardly gathered up some papers. He placed them on the desk and looked up at her. “Yes?” 

She smiled slightly. “I love you, too.”

His cheeks reddened, and he looked down. Katria climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, shaking her head and trying to hide her laugh because Cullen blushed about _that_ and not the fact that more than a few people in Skyhold would be talking tomorrow morning about why Commander Cullen’s doors were uncharacteristically locked the previous evening. 

===

Cullen only partially cleaned the area around his desk. He meant to do more, but after a few minutes he was distracted by the sound of his bed creaking above him, signifying that Katria had laid down. There was a woman— _the_ woman—in his bed, and he could go to her and be with her and _she’d said I love you_. He doubted he’d ever been happier. 

Cullen grabbed his coat and gauntlets from the mess around him and climbed the ladder. Katria was sitting in his bed and shifting through some parchment on the small table beside her. Her hair was down and fell like a dark curtain over her face. 

“What are those?” he asked, as he placed his things down by his armor stand. His fingers started to work on his breastplate. 

“You’ve kept my letters,” she said, still looking down. 

“I like them,” he replied, reaching for one of his boots. “I…read them sometimes when you’re not at Skyhold.” 

There was a small smile on her face then. Cullen removed his thicker, outer tunic and sat next to her on the bed. Her brow was furrowed as she held one letter in her hand. It was crinkled and blotchy, like it had gotten wet while being delivered. 

“These are from the Storm Coast,” she said. 

Cullen felt his heart beating a little faster. “Well…” 

Katria turned to him. “You kept these and brought them out of Haven with you. Is that how long you’ve...”

“I was intrigued by you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Subconsciously, I think. Your letters were engaging. They made me smile, and you’d just gotten me that book, and I wondered if I cared for you. So I kept them.” 

“Oh, Cullen…” Katria let the letter flutter to the floor, so she could sling her arms around his neck and kiss him. She straddled him as he fell backwards onto the bed. He gently nibbled on her lower lip, sliding his hands up her bare thighs to her hips. Katria leaned back and pulled him up so he was sitting again. She fumbled with his shirt and brought it over his head. Her long slender fingers trailed down his chest. Katria pulled away from him. 

“I _do_ love you,” she whispered, touching his face. 

He ran his hand along her side. “So did you mean it when you said it before this point?” 

Katria pushed herself further into his lap, grinding against him. He closed his eyes and groaned through his pursed lips. “Well, I had to make sure the sex was good first,” she said. 

He gave a short laugh, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His hand moved to her lower back to steady her as he pushed her to the middle of his bed under him. 

Katria put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she murmured. Her voice was muffled in his hair. “That’s not why I love you. We could never be together again, and it wouldn’t matter.” 

Cullen lifted himself up, so he could look at her. He kissed her tenderly, cupping the side of her face in one hand. He cleared his throat. “I hope it’s alright with you, but I’d like the complete opposite of that.” 

Katria positively beamed at him. “Excellent!” she said. “Because I think it’s only fair that we have sex on _my_ desk too.” Her hand explored the muscles in his arm, and she licked her lips. She had a thing for arms, he noticed.

Cullen traced his fingers along the embroidery of her tunic that dipped down between her breasts. He kissed her there, running his hand up her stomach, while she squirmed and let out a sigh. 

“How about now?” he asked. 

Katria pulled him up so she could look at him and nod enthusiastically before she kissed him. 

“Now’s a good time, too.”

===

Katria awoke to a stream of light shining directly in her eyes. She covered her face, muttering blearily and pushing herself up on her elbow. Was she outside? She moved to a sitting position and looked around. The faint outline of Cullen’s sparse bedroom reminded her where she was, and she looked up—there was a huge hole in his ceiling that sent rays from the rising sun directly onto the side of the bed she was laying on. Katria turned and glared at Cullen’s sleeping form. She thought about smacking him until he woke up, but then decided against it because of how little rest she knew he got. Katria instead slid off the bed and walked over to her clothes. She’d put her tunic back on the night before because after years of sleeping outside, in stables, or other questionable places, being naked and asleep was something she rarely did. Plus, if there was some sort of Inquisition emergency she did not want to be caught completely unawares.

Katria was sitting on the bed, putting her boots on and trying to get her hair into some semblance of order—or at least some style that didn’t beg the question of what exactly she was doing for half the night in this particular tower. 

Cullen’s leg twitched behind her, before he began to thrash more urgently on his back, his brows knit together above his closed eyes. Katria turned, resting her knee on the bed, and was about to put her hand on his chest, when his eyes flew open and he gave a strangled gasp. 

His gaze darted around for a few seconds, his shoulders heaving, before he collapsed back against his pillow with a groan. He slid his hand over his forehead. 

“Are you alright?” Katria asked him gently. 

Cullen nodded. “It was just a bad dream. Without lyrium, they get…they’re worse.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say past the terrible ache she felt for him. 

He sat up and put his hand on her waist. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “I think it’s a little late for that.” 

Cullen pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back. “I’m glad you stayed.” 

“Oh, well, I simply couldn’t resist the rustic charm of sleeping in a room with a hole in the roof.” She laughed. “Tell me, have you made friends with the various birds and insects that fall through there?” 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” he muttered. 

Katria lifted her head and grinned. “You’re right. The present company more than makes up for it.” 

Cullen put his hand on her thigh and leaned down to kiss her. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. 

“You are…” He sighed. “I have never felt anything like this.”

She pecked his cheek. “I know. My mix of wit and humor _is_ quite devastating.” 

“I’m serious,” he said. 

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Katria sat up a little straighter in his lap. “Just as you should be aware that you…” She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheekbone, his lip, the line of his jaw. “You make me very happy. And…all that other stuff we talked about yesterday with those other things.”

He caught her hand and pressed his lips against it. “That was very eloquent.” 

Katria huffed. “Well, we can’t both be perfect.” She wiggled around so she was straddling him. “And you have taken that title away from me quite soundly, my prince.” 

Cullen slid his hands to her backside. “Don’t go yet,” he said. 

Katria swallowed her resounding _yes_ because no matter how desperately she’d like to stay, both their duties were likely calling them away. She still sighed. 

“I wish I could, but I have a meeting with Leliana, and I’m afraid if I don’t go to my quarters first and change, she’ll know about all this, and the next time we’re together they’ll be spies peering down at us from that stupid hole in your roof taking notes.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Taking notes?” 

Katria nodded and raked her hands through his hair. “Yes. And they’d be very impressed with your performance, I’m sure.” 

Cullen flushed all the way to his ears at that, and she snorted, scooting herself off his lap and into a standing position. Katria kissed him a few more times for good measure before dropping down on his ladder. She heard him flop back against his bed and give a satisfied exhale as she descended. She found herself doing the same thing against the door to her quarters, completely unable to remove the smile from her face.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Katria was a very light sleeper, which as the Inquisitor, she was beginning to loathe. At sunrise, a servant would bring her breakfast and wake her, and normally, she was eager to get up and eat. This morning, she wasn’t as chipper—it was cold, she was still exhausted and had an ache right between her eyes. Her bed was a welcome refuge to all these problems. 

Her breakfast was delivered and sat unacknowledged while the golden light from the sunrise moved across her room. The door opened back up. 

“Inquisitor, I-,” 

Katria threw the duvet back and sat up, smiling widely. “Cullen!” 

He jumped and looked over at her. “Oh, forgive me, you’re usually awake by now.” He gestured to the report in his hand. “I have Dagna’s notes on her red lyrium samples.” 

Katria’s smiled faded. “You’re here to talk about business?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

She buried herself back in the covers. “Go away.” 

Cullen sighed impatiently. “Katria.” 

Her hand emerged from the mass of pillows around her. “Don’t you _Katria_ me. I’m tired, and I don’t want to talk about the Inquisition.”

He sat down in the chair across from her breakfast. “Come over here and talk to me.”

“Come over here and fu-,”

“It’s important,” he insisted.

She pushed the covers from her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you are the epitome of the phrase ‘no fun’?” 

Cullen rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Yes. I assume you and Varric brainstorm about comments on my severity.” 

Katria sat up in the bed and soothed her hair down. “You’re not wrong there.” She trudged over and sat in the chair across from him. She began making herself some tea. 

“Alright,” she said. “On with it.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he replied, leaning forward. “Dagna has made some progress by studying her red lyrium samples, but she needs more details on Samson’s armor. The orders you found in the mine mentioned Maddox.” Cullen reached up and rubbed his neck. “It is not a name I expected to hear.” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Another friend of yours from behind enemy lines?” 

“It’s complicated,” he snapped. “Maddox was a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. Eventually, Samson was caught—that’s why he was cast out of the Order. Maddox was made Tranquil and became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have rescued him, and in return Maddox made his armor.”

Katria took a sip from her cup and lowered it, her eyes on the intricate gold design painted onto the side. Josephine’s selection, as usual. She bit her lip. “They made a man Tranquil and cast Samson out of the Order over a few love letters?” 

“The official charge was ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar.’ Knight-Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, believe me.” 

She finally looked at him. “And you did nothing to prevent it?” 

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked. 

Katria set her mug on the table and sat up. “I don’t know, stop her? The fact that…that Tranquility was used in that way is horrendous.” She put her hand to her temple. “And Samson—cast out, still on that lyrium leash, for having _compassion_.”

Cullen did not reply. His leather gloves tightened across the report in his hand. 

“He has little compassion now,” he eventually said. 

Katria exhaled through her nose. “I feel…sorry for him. He shouldn’t have been kicked out of the Order.” 

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” 

Her brow furrowed. “All about what?” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Nothing.” 

Katria sat up in the chair, folding her leg underneath her. “No, go for it, Commander. I know all about what? Getting Templars kicked out of the Order?” 

“Katria, I didn’t-,” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What exactly is your problem?” 

Cullen rubbed his forehead and winced. “Nothing. I’m very sorry. I just…” He exhaled. 

“Have a headache?” she suggested. “And decided you’d just push through it like I’ve told you _not_ to do a million times?” 

He looked at her with one eye, his elbows rested on his knees. “I thought you didn’t like mothering me.” 

“Oh, I don’t.” Katria pushed herself up and walked over to him. She grabbed his jaw in her hand and kissed him on the mouth. “But you are so stubborn sometimes it’s necessary.”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said again. Cullen sighed. “I—I hate to think…You _know_ I regret many of my actions in Kirkwall, and being reminded of it, knowing you see me that way…” 

Katria perched herself on the edge of his chair. “I don’t, I promise. You’re not that man anymore.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, I think I have some of that tea Marianne gives you in my desk. I’ll make you some.” 

Cullen reached out to stop her. “I’m fine, really, you-,” 

She hopped away from his hand and began rummaging through one of her desk drawers. “So you were telling me about Maddox?” 

He sat back. “Yes. Maddox made Samson’s armor. I remember the Tranquil in Kirkwall needing rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments—supplies we can trace.” 

Katria walked over and sat back down, stirring a new cup of tea for him. “That sounds like a solid lead,” she said. 

Cullen accepted the cup from her. “I agree. I can have our men kick down some doors. Samson’s armor might lead us right to his stronghold.” He sighed. “I hope that helps Dagna figure out his armor. She told me it’s a pretty incredible achievement.” 

“Dagna is good at what she does,” Katria said. “Although I don’t get as many of her technical lectures. She gets sidetracked by my mark.” She lifted her palm and wiggled her fingers. “She told me it was pretty.”

Cullen looked down at his cup, his cheeks flushed. “Yes, she is fascinated by it.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “Why are you blushing?” 

“It isn’t—I’m not,” he muttered.

“Cullen.” 

He turned a deeper shade of scarlet, then threw his hand up. “Well, if you must know, Dagna asked me—she really has no sense of privacy o-or modesty when it comes to her research.” 

“Well, what did she want to know?” Katria asked. 

Cullen slouched down into the chair. “She asked me about you. She…wanted to know if your—if the magic in your mark reacted when we, ah, you know.”

She covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to keep herself from laughing hysterically. “When we what?” she managed to choke out. “Meet in the War Room? Talk about troop movements?” 

He groaned. “Katria…” 

She shrugged, unable to hold back her mischievous grin. “I’m honestly stumped.” 

Cullen buried his face in his hand. “I believe the word she used was ‘copulate’.” 

Katria sputtered, leaning over her knees from the force of her laughter. “Oh, Maker, I would have given anything to be there for _that_.”

“I told her that it wasn’t her business and that it was very inappropriate to inquire about,” he said. “And she giggled.” 

Katria leaned her elbow against the arm of the chair, inspecting the marked hand in her lap. She opened and closed her palm. “I’m curious now. If my mark reacts.” Her eyes flickered up to him, and she smirked. “Let’s find out. You know, for science.” 

Cullen shook his head. “What I don’t understand is _how_ our…private affairs became public so quickly.” 

Katria tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Might have something to do with that incident on your desk two weeks ago.” 

He finished his tea and reached across the table for her hand, tugging on it. “You know, the details of that night have become a little fuzzy. You’ll have to remind me.”

She scrutinized him, then took two steps over and slid onto his lap. “Happy now?” she muttered, running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. 

“Almost.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted his chin to kiss her. She smiled against his mouth, until she took his lower lip between hers. He slid his hand up her back and along her thigh to pull her closer. 

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, and Katria immediately slid off him, despite the fact that Cullen still tried to cling to her with a frustrated huff. She rested her elbow along the top of his chair. 

“Hi, Bailey.” 

The little girl hurried into the room, hoisting her fox on the bed, and then walked over to the table where Katria’s breakfast was. She picked through the food on the tray and finished off Katria’s tea. Bailey looked up. 

“How come your hair’s not wet?” she asked. Bailey came by in the mornings to perform her duties as the official Inquisition hairdresser. And eat Katria’s fancy breakfast. 

“I had to talk to Cullen about some things,” Katria explained. “I haven’t had a chance to wash up.”

Bailey regarded Cullen warily while putting a piece of a sweet roll into her mouth. She then smiled brightly. “I’ll go help Olivia and Sophie draw your bath!” 

“Well, actually-,” 

Katria stopped when Bailey rushed past her to the bed. She pointed a finger at her fox, who had stood once she approached. “Stay!” she said firmly. It flopped back onto the bed as Bailey disappeared down the stairs.

Cullen snorted from the chair once she was gone. “Shame we can’t teach Bailey tricks like that. Stay. Go away. Knock first.” 

Katria grabbed his reports from the table and handed them to him. “Be nice. I’m not leaving for Caer Oswin for a few more days.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “There will be time to find the answer to Dagna’s question.” 

He reluctantly stood, and she slid her hand to the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Bailey appeared at the top of the stairs, and they separated. 

“Bye Cullen!” she said as he passed her. Cullen just patted her absentmindedly on the head and grunted. 

===

The trip to Caer Oswin was not good for Cassandra—the Seeker was normally quiet on their trips, but on their way back from taking out the Lord Seeker, she was positively dour. Katria tried to cheer her up, but her attempts at humor were less successful than ever; Cassandra did not even give a disgusted grunt at her quips anymore. 

Once they returned to Skyhold, Katria attended to some Inquisition business (and Cullen) before finding Cassandra holed up on the top floor of the forge. She was in a chair staring listlessly out the window, her hand rested on the book Lucius gave her. 

Katria approached her and curled her fingers around the back of a chair. 

Cassandra looked down. “This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, since the time of the old Inquisition.” She drummed her fingers against it. “And now it falls to me.”

“Dry reading, I take it?” she asked. 

Cassandra met her gaze. “On the contrary, it’s a delight. I’m riveted.”

Katria furrowed her brow, then let out a snort. “Oh, you’re _joking_.” She smiled slightly. “Leave the humor to me. You keep killing bears.”

Cassandra just let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. 

Katria sat down across from her. “Did you find something upsetting?” 

She nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware that what finally began the mage rebellion was the discovery that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up—harshly. There were deaths.” She pursed her lips. “It…appears we’ve always known how to reverse the right. From the beginning.”

“Reverse—reverse _Tranquility_?” Katria began incredulously. “That’s, I mean, that is unfortunate.” She slumped back in the chair. “Maker, what on this fucking continent isn’t teeming with corruption?” 

“Very little, it seems,” Cassandra said bitterly. “We created the Rite of Tranquility and look how it’s been used.” She pushed the tome across the table. “And there’s more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order.”

“So what are you going to do?” Katria asked. 

Cassandra shrugged. “I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. Now? I’m not certain it deserves to be rebuilt.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so shaken,” she remarked, frowning. 

“I dedicated my whole life to the Order,” Cassandra said. “And they have not been doing the Maker’s work. Not truly.” 

“Cass, if anyone can build them into something worthwhile, you can,” she said. 

Cassandra shook her head. “But are they even worth rebuilding?”

“That isn’t my call,” Katria replied. “But if you choose to begin again, I’ll help you.” She paused and gestured to her chest. “I mean, as the Inquisitor. Unless you think some Katria jokes would get the Seekers up and running and ethical again.” 

She chuckled. “I would appreciate both.” 

“You said it,” Katria said, shaking her finger. “You can’t take it back now.”

Cassandra broke into a smile. “Thank you. I could not have done this on my own.” 

“Of course,” she said, reclining back and resting her feet on the table between them. “Rebuilding the Seekers, it’s not a solo thing. Not like killing bears.” 

“It was _one_ bear.” 

“Well, if you can kill a bear on your own, then you can set the Order back on the right track,” Katria said. 

“If only it was that easy,” Cassandra replied, which made them both laugh.

They sat in a content silence for a while, until Katria convinced Cassandra that one drink, or possibly twelve, would make her feel better. She put her arm around Cassandra's shoulders as they walked to the tavern, and the Seeker didn't push her away even a little. It was certainly progress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, compared to recent ones, which is a format I will likely return to, I think. (Unless it's worse that way). Should have another update by Saturday!


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised an update Saturday, and the good news is, it's still Saturday where I am!

Katria tried to visit the tavern every few evenings in Skyhold—she told herself it was because her public presence there certainly had to be good for morale, but in reality, the opportunity to relax with her friends and disengage herself from Inquisition politics for even a few hours was not something she wanted to pass up on. 

She was sitting at a table with Varric, Dorian, Bull and some of his Chargers. Sera had been with them for a while, before she’d consumed so much ale she was running from the table screeching about pranks and cookies. The tavern was loud, filled with sounds of clanking glasses and mugs, Maryden’s songs, and the rancorous chatter of Inquisition soldiers. 

Katria felt someone tugging on the back of her shirt, and she turned. Bailey was standing before her, a plate balanced on one palm, and her fox tucked under her other arm. 

“I brought cake!” she exclaimed, bodily pushing herself between Katria and Dorian to situate herself on the bench. 

Dorian huffed, moving his arm away from her. “Watch those fox claws on the Antivan leather, child. I have a standard of fashion to maintain.”

“Then what’s the excuse for your mustache?” she asked.

His jaw dropped, and he stabbed a fork straight through her slice of cake, dragging it towards him across the table. Bailey jumped up and lunged for him, but he put one hand on her forehead, keeping her at arm’s length, while laughing heartily. He had consumed his fair share of a bottle of wine.

“Give it back!” Bailey begged. 

The fox jumped on the table in the pandemonium, and a voice called out from behind them. 

“Hey, no animals on the table unless they’re marinated and roasted!” Cabot exclaimed from the bar. 

Katria lifted her hand to placate him and pried the fox off the table. She plopped it into her lap and grabbed Bailey by her collar. 

“Maker’s Balls, Dorian,” she said. “Give the little girl her cake.” She looked pointedly at him as he slid the plate back over to her. “And get the icing off that fashionable mustache of yours.” 

Dorian licked the icing off his lip, then stuck out his tongue at them. While Bailey mirrored his gesture with her eyes scrunched shut, Katria swung the half-eaten piece of cake over to her and took a few bites. 

Bailey finally sat still on the bench and leaned against her. The entire table groaned as Bull, who was across from them, shifted, holding his massive hands up to his bare chest. 

“So, this woman’s tits were bouncing and-,” 

Katria scrambled to put her hands over Bailey’s ears. “Fuck, Bull, would you save the raunchy stories for when the ten-year old leaves?” 

Bull laughed. “Did you just use the word _fuck_ in the same sentence you reprimand me for being inappropriate around the kid?”

“Inquisitor Trevelyan: the role model of Thedas,” Dorian said sarcastically. 

Katria glared at him as Bailey was putting a piece of cake in her mouth. “I know what both of you are talking about,” she said petulantly.

Varric waved his hand in the air. “Alright, alright. _I’ll_ tell a story that’s appropriate for all ages.” 

“Why, because it will _only_ feature crime and murder?” Katria asked.

“It wouldn’t be a good story otherwise,” Varric told her, grinning. He turned to Bailey. “Have I ever told you about the time we broke into Chateau Haine, Pup?” 

Bailey shook her head, apparently unable to speak because she was so engrossed in the possibility of hearing a story.

Varric leaned back. “Well, it started as most capers do—with a trap.” 

Katria heard the clink of metal armor behind her, the way the tavern got just slightly quieter as the door opened, and groaned internally.

“Inquisitor,” a voice said. 

She turned around and smiled slightly at Cullen. “You’re here for a drink? Some cake?” 

“Yeah, Curly, take a break,” Varric said. “Have an ale.” 

He had a report in his hand. “I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.”

Katria rapped her fist against the table as she extricated herself from the bench. “Perhaps some of you haven’t been introduced to business Cullen—his vocabulary consists of ‘Samson’, ‘Inquisitor’, and ‘trebuchet calibration’. Business Cullen is always wearing his armor and does not like touching.” 

Cullen turned for the door without replying, and she followed him with a roll of her eyes. They climbed the stairs near them to the battlements. 

“This is about Samson, I assume?” Katria said. 

He nodded and held open the door to his office for her. “I just received verification from one of my men—we’ve found his lair. It’s at a shrine to Dumat in Orlais.” 

She walked in and leaned against his desk. “It will be well guarded and fortified, I imagine. I’ll bring my best, and I’ll get him, I promise.” 

He was pacing in front of her, unable to contain his excitement. “No, _we’ll_ get him. My duties usually keep me here, but for Samson? I’ll make an exception.” 

Katria straightened, her brow furrowed. “Wait, Cullen, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She approached him and touched his arm. “The area’s likely teeming with red lyrium and in your condition…” 

“I will not stay behind while you confront him,” he said, frowning. “I plan to make him pay for what he did to the Order.” 

“At what expense?” she asked. “The red lyrium in the Emprise du Lion really affected Dorian, even _me_. I can’t imagine what would happen to you. I don’t want to.” 

“I can endure it,” he insisted. “I will!” 

“This mission could also be incredibly dangerous,” Katria said, pushing aside the tendrils of hair that had broken free from her braid. “Samson still has that red lyrium armor.” 

He took her hands in his. “All the more reason for me to go,” he said. “I would…sleep better, if I knew I would be at your side.”

Katria dropped his grip with a skeptical look. “Oh, so business Cullen now tries for the 'lover of the Inquisitor' approach.” 

“I am allowed to want to accompany you for more than one reason,” he protested. “It is important to me that Samson is apprehended.” Cullen ran his hand along her shoulder. “And I love you, so I want to be at your side.” 

Katria squirmed away from him. “Yes, alright, fine," she muttered. "You win. We will depart in the morning.” 

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ve already begun preparing a squadron of soldiers to accompany us.” 

“Oh yes, I can imagine,” she said. Katria paused and crossed her arms over her chest. She scrunched her lips up to one side before she spoke. 

“So, when you said you would…sleep better at my side, did you mean literally?” 

“Well, I—what do you mean?” Cullen asked. 

She scratched her cheek. “Will you be physically at my side when you sleep better? In the same tent?” 

“I-I hadn’t really thought about…that,” he admitted. 

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? I thought Commander Cullen thought of everything.” 

He was breathing a little more deeply through his nose, his gaze drifting away from her to the side. “We…I think…” 

When a blush began to rise to his cheeks, she laughed. Katria ran her fingers into his fur mantle. “It’s alright. I didn’t mean to fluster you.” 

“No,” he said, reaching up to put his hand over hers. “I think I would like that.” 

Katria grinned. “Really?” 

Cullen shrugged. “Well…Well, I love you, of course, so I don’t see why we couldn’t. It’s not something I’m ashamed of. Unless you would prefer…” 

She stepped closer to him. “This is completely selfish and personal, but the fact that I get to spend the next few weeks traveling with you is incredibly exciting. I would likely be in your tent every night even if there wasn’t a bed roll laid out for me. We might as well do it.” She kissed him. “We’ll let Josie fret about it if she wants to.” 

Cullen wrapped her in his arms and gathered her close to him. “I’m looking forward to it.” He pressed his lips to the side of her head before letting her go. 

“We’ll depart at your leave, Inquisitor!” he added, in his business Cullen voice, before spinning on his heel and leaving his office with a stack of reports. Katria simply watched him go and resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. 

===

The first day the Inquisitor, her team, and Cullen’s squadron set out for Orlais, they traveled almost until nightfall. Katria, like always, lead from the front, and spent most of her time socializing with the soldiers they had brought along. When they stopped to get water for their horses or eat, Katria would skip rocks with them or take them to a cluster of foliage and point out which plants or berries were edible and which ones weren’t. She was proficient outdoors, confident—Cullen wished he got to interact with her more. But he decided it was more important for her to cultivate these relationships with his men, with her inner-circle, so he was forced to just gaze wistfully at the back of her gray cloak as she clopped along in front of him. 

They stopped about an hour before sundown, and Cullen oversaw the set-up of the camp, guard rotations, their provisions, anything to keep himself from nervously fidgeting at the thought of Katria joining him in his tent. They had spent only a few nights together in his quarters because she was gone so much. He greatly looked forward to the day when the minute Katria stepped back into Skyhold, she wasn’t immediately planning when to depart on her next mission. 

Cullen had also lately been…absorbed in his work, too absorbed in certain people’s view, and that meant even when he made time to see her, it was well after midnight, and she’d stay for only a few hours before leaving at dawn. Now, they were officially occupying the same space; he worried his nightmares would keep her awake, or disturb her, or he’d accidentally hurt her. 

Cullen shook his head and tried to clear such thoughts from his mind. He went out to look for Katria in order to update her about some messages he’d received, but she was not sitting by the fire with Cassandra as she had been before. 

“Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. 

Cassandra was meticulously cleaning her sword. She looked up at him and gestured to the dense forest that began at the bottom of the hill they were on. “Out. About. Like she does.” 

He furrowed his brow. “What? Is she alone?” 

Dorian was lounging beside the Seeker. He raised his glass. “The worm turns.” 

Cullen put his hands on his sword. “What does that mean? Why would you let her go off alone?” 

Dorian sat up slightly. “I assume since the two of you are in love or whatever—so adorably it’s a little sickening, I might add—that you know about Katria’s peccadillos.”

He disliked many things about that statement and clenched his fingers. “Just answer my question.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “She left to explore the forest. Not exactly responsible, but you try and tell Katria Trevelyan what to do. Tell us how that goes.” 

“You don’t follow her?” he asked. “You just let her go off alone?” 

“We tried to follow her, at first,” Cassandra replied. “But she knows and slips away. Anywhere outdoors counts as a home field advantage for her.” 

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “She just likes to have time to clear her head at the end of the day. It’s perfectly natural.” 

“But she’s by herself,” Cullen protested. “Something could happen. She’s the Inquisitor and-,” He cut himself off and ran his hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to find her and tell her how irresponsible this is.” 

“That sounds fun,” Dorian remarked, as he tried to stand. Cassandra reached out and yanked him down by the collar his robe. “Stay out of the Inquisitor’s business.” 

Dorian snorted. “Oh, please, who's the one always asking her about-,”

Cassandra silenced him with a single glare while Cullen turned from them and started down the hill towards the forest. Katria had not even told him where she was going. If something happened to her, if she got hurt, abducted, attacked, no one would know where to find her. It was entirely too much of a risk at this time. 

Cullen reached the scraggy line of trees and saw a set of footsteps stamped into the dirt. He followed them for a few minutes. It was quiet, and the light around him was slowly fading. He eventually stopped and looked around, his feet snapping the twigs under him. 

“Why are you following me?” 

Cullen made a strangled noise and spun around. He gave another shout and staggered backwards when he saw Katria hanging upside down in front of him. 

“Maker’s breath!” he blurted out. “What are you doing?” 

She blinked and tilted her head. “I was asking you a question.” She swung her body a little. Her knees were draped over a low-hanging branch on the tree beside him, and her cheeks were bright red from the blood rushing down to them. 

“How did I—How did you,” Cullen stopped and scratched his head. “I didn’t even hear you.” 

“That’s sort of the point,” she said. Katria pulled herself up, her hands grabbing the branch as she brought her legs to the ground. He watched the slender muscles in her shoulder contract under her shirt.

“I now see why Varric calls you Cat,” he remarked. She smiled slightly and stood in front of him, hands on her hips, pieces of her dark hair clinging to her temples. Sunlight filtered through the branches above them and fell on half her face. He could see the brilliant blue outer ring of her eyes that bled into the light brown around her pupil. Her cheek was high, sharp, a reminder that she was born into a noble family and had the delicate bone structure to prove it. She looked beautiful. 

Cullen grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her mouth against his. He could taste the sweat on her upper lip, the bitter tang from whatever she’d been drinking before she left for the forest.

She pulled away slightly and furrowed her brow. “I thought you were here because you were angry with me.” 

“I…” Cullen released her, part of him despising the fact that he let himself get distracted. “I _am_. What were you thinking—going out like this, alone? Its madness.” 

Katria stepped back from him and sighed. “I can take care of myself.” 

“That’s not the point,” he said. “We are fighting a war, and this is an unnecessary risk.” 

She scowled. “Yes, Cullen, I realize we’re at war because _I’m_ on the front lines of it almost every day. I travel, and I fight, and it’s a never-ending cycle—there are always more enemies to kill, more rifts to close, and it is exhausting.” She raised her hands, gesturing to the dense forest around them. “This is what I allow myself. I get to be alone, away from all the madness, and you come tracking in here like some petulant child-,” 

“I am not a child,” Cullen snapped. “This is dangerous and irresponsible. All the work you’ve done that’s made you so exhausted will be for _nothing_ if something happens to you out here.” 

“I can take care of myself!” she repeated, louder this time. “I am so tired of you treating me like I’m a second-rate swordsman just because-,” 

“That is not the issue here,” he said, raising his hand. 

“Oh, but it is,” she insisted. “I’m not some large, fancy longsword-wielding soldier, and Maker forbid, I’m also a _woman_ , so I simply cannot be expected to defend myself.”

“That’s not it! What if you have an accident?” Cullen demanded. “What if you fall and break your back playing your silly little game climbing trees and none of us can find you? You can’t take these risks here because you are risking enough fighting Corypheus.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” she said firmly. “I’ve been doing things my way for months.” Katria ran her hand through her hair. “Maker, I _knew_ this would happen.”

Cullen tried to take a deep breath. He could see that his love for her was complicating things—that his intense desire to protect her would feel like he was suffocating her. “I just…” He sighed. “I just want to feel a little more at ease. Your safety is important to me.”

“You can’t…” She stopped and shook her head. “I can’t stay at the camp. I want—I _have_ to be alone sometimes.” Katria looked down at her hands. “You don’t understand what it’s like, but people are always watching me. Always. At Skyhold, on the road, and it drives me a little insane sometimes.” 

Cullen swallowed. “I didn’t think about it that way. I suppose it must be hard to deal with, considering how you lived before.” 

She just nodded, her gaze still lowered. 

He stepped towards her, sliding his hand along her cheek and resting his forehead against her. “Could we…is there something we could do to compromise? Maybe, set aside a definite amount of time?” 

“I hate that everything has to be so rigid and scheduled,” she muttered. 

Cullen put his other hand on her face and lifted her eyes to his. “I know. I know it’s not ideal, Katria. But this will be over, soon, I promise, and then things will be different, more normal.” He ran his thumb along her scar. “Just for now, could—let’s make it an hour, or until sundown, or something, so that if you don’t come back, I know precisely when to start looking for you.” 

Cullen hurriedly spoke again before she could reply. “This has nothing to do with your ability to fight. You are the best equipped to be out here alone, but things happen, and it would mean so much to me if you could…” 

Katria thought for a few moments, then nodded. “Alright,” she whispered. “If it’s this important to you, then we can try it. If I don’t come back after an hour, you can send in the cavalry.”

“Thank you,” he said. He felt his shoulders slump in relief as he moved his hands to her waist and pulled her into a long kiss. Cullen tilted her head and pushed his tongue past her teeth, which made her groan in the back of her throat and clench her fingers in his hair. He brought her flush against his chest before she pulled away to take a breath. 

“What do I get in return for agreeing to your terms?” she asked. 

Cullen’s grip involuntarily tightened. “Anything you want,” he murmured, as he kissed her again. 

Katria leaned back and opened her mouth to reply. 

“Except my coat,” he added, grinning. 

Her mouth snapped shut as her eyes narrowed. She socked him playfully right in the center of his breastplate. “I’m going back to camp.” 

Cullen chuckled and followed her as she made her way through the forest. He planted a kiss on her jaw before she swatted him away. She could not hide the small smile on her face. 

“You should be careful. I know where you sleep.” 

“Yes,” he said. “Beside _you_. So if you order Sera to put spiders or bees in my bedroll, they’ll probably get on you too.” 

Katria smirked. “Good point. I suppose I’ll just have to get creative.” 

The thought of that worried him just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time thinking of Varric's nickname for Bailey, since the obvious choice, Kid, was already taken. (Thanks Cole.) I picked Pup because Bailey's Ferelden and she loves animals and I'm not really sure how important it was to even explain this, but I figured I would!
> 
> Next update might take a little longer since I really want to do the Shrine of Dumat justice--plus fighting! Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	40. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not at Dumat yet, but this little scene materialized and became much longer than I intended, so I thought I would make it a separate, shorter chapter--hope ya'll enjoy!

Katria woke up screaming Cullen’s name—not in the good way, but in the memories-from-the-Fade, nightmare sort of way that sent her bolting up from the bedroll, panting and with shaking hands. Cullen's arm was draped over her from behind, and Katria wiggled from his grasp, scooting away with her back to him. 

The noise obviously woke him up. She could hear him shifting and mumbling.

“Katria?” 

It was still dark outside, and she was only barely visible because of the torches outside their tent. She exhaled and ran her fingers along her scalp. They’d been on the road for ten days. The terrain had gotten flatter, sandier, the air hotter, and their assault on Samson’s base was planned for the morning. The nightmares had been coming in quick succession as that time neared. 

“You’re…okay, right?” she asked weakly. 

Cullen put his hand on her back. “Of course I am. Come here.” 

Katria turned, but didn’t lay back down with him. She just reached out and ran her fingers along his chest. It hadn’t been real. No matter how many times she saw it in her dreams, it wasn’t real. 

Cullen propped himself up on his elbow. “What happened?” 

She shrugged. “Nothing that I haven’t seen before. You were there—we were there, in the Fade. The Nightmare demon made me see you, as you know.” She pressed her palm against the warm skin on his chest. “You matter to me most, I suppose, and I killed you because that’s what I do best. Hurt people that I care for with these stupid abilities.”

He touched her outstretched arm. “I’m fine. You’re not going to do anything to hurt me.” 

“I know,” Katria said, dropping her hand. “I just get these dreams sometimes. The same thing happened after Redcliffe.” 

Cullen gestured her back over to the bedroll, and this time she obliged. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her close. It helped, a little, but it was also unfamiliar. Katria was not accustomed to being comforted because she rarely shared her struggle. 

She pushed away from him so she could lay on her back and stare up at the brown canvas above them. Cullen laid on his side and brushed some hair from her face. 

“It happened for months after that stupid time jump,” she explained, not looking at him. “I’d seen all my friends die for me there. Cassandra, Varric, Leliana, Blackwall. The way the red lyrium corrupted them was bad enough, but then they sacrificed themselves on top of that. And every night after, especially when we traveled, in the Western Approach, the Emerald Graves, I’d dream about them, in that state, because I worried that they would be hurt or killed for _real_ , in a time I couldn’t reverse.”

Cullen had stopped playing with her hair. “In Crestwood, too?” he asked. 

Katria thought for a few moments. “Yes.” 

He gave a long exhale through his nose. “I know what happened out there,” he said in a quiet voice. 

She turned her head to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

Cullen pushed aside the neckline of her tunic, his fingers tracing the still-visible scar from the Northern Hunter that ran from her shoulder to her clavicle. “I know the truth about your fight with the dragon.” 

“I told you the truth,” she said. 

His gaze met hers. “You pushed Dorian out of the way. It fell on you instead, shredded your arm, could have easily killed you.”

“He’s a mage,” Katria said. “He wasn’t wearing the armor for-,”

“Neither were you.” 

She tried again. “He’s my friend. I protect my—it’s just what I do.” Katria bit her lip. “The nightmares are less potent if I know that I’ve done everything in my power to save those who matter to me.” 

Cullen put his arm across her stomach and buried his face in the crook of her neck. 

“I’m worried about you—about later today,” she remarked. “That’s why I dreamed about it. You’ve never traveled with us before. It’s dangerous out here.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he whispered. “I started my Templar training when I was 13. I’ve been fighting just as long as you have.”

She smiled slightly. “Yes, but have you been doing it as _well_ as I have?” 

He kissed the spot under her ear. “Probably better.” 

Katria laughed at that, a throaty, tired sound that made her shoulders shake. Cullen smiled against her skin and squeezed her as she tried to move away. 

“Rest a few more minutes, you’ll need it.” 

She turned to her side, facing away from him, and he pressed himself to her with his arm around her waist. He slept like this most nights, curled up against her with his hand on her hip or his arm across her chest. They would lay apart from one another at first, but Cullen would always migrate over in his sleep, holding her to him surprisingly tightly, like he was afraid she’d slip away. 

Katria sighed. “I’m not sure I have time. I’ve got daggers that need cleaning, armor that needs checking.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “And you positively ruined my braid last night, so I’ll have to find Cassandra and get her to redo it.” 

His voice rumbled in his chest. “You don’t know how to do it yourself?” 

“No,” she said. “I guess I could have learned from Kate, but as you know, she and I were not close as children, and I was interested in less feminine pursuits, like swordplay. But I do prefer my hair done that way. It’s practical.” 

“Even I know how to braid hair,” he muttered. 

Katria turned her head. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. 

She giggled. “Oh, I heard you. If it’s true, I bet if you ask nicely, Bailey will let you be the official _assistant_ Inquisition hairdresser. You know, in case being the Commander of the Inquisition doesn’t work out for you.” 

“I might consider it,” he said, his hand moving down her waist to the bare skin of her thigh. “My current boss is as stubborn as a mule. Reckless. Flippant.” 

“You forgot hilarious,” she said. 

He mumbled in assent as he turned her slightly and his lips closed around her mouth. “Beautiful, too,” he added. “And the person I love most in this world.”

She made an exasperated noise. “Cullen.” 

He stopped kissing her. “What?”

“You should love your family most,” she said. “Your—your sisters taught you to braid hair, that’s real love! I assume, at least, that you didn’t pick up the skill in the Templar barracks…”

“Yes, my sisters did teach me,” he replied. “When you have one very bossy older sister, and another younger one who only ever wants to pretend to be a princess, braiding hair becomes an important skill. It’s been twenty years since then. I’ve probably forgotten how to.” Cullen put his hand on her cheek. “And don’t think you can change the subject on me. Of _course_ I love my family, but they’re not who I want to have…” 

When he didn’t finish his sentence, she furrowed her brow slightly. “Who you want to have what with?” 

He dropped his hand. “Ah, never mind.” 

Katria didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved—she had a few guesses about what his completed sentence would entail. _She_ was the one he wanted to have a future with, even when the Inquisition was over. The individual pieces of that future, though, had yet to be traded between them. Katria pushed the specifics to the back of her mind because there were always more pressing matters at hand, but that excuse would not work forever because they’d defeat Corypheus eventually.

She rolled the rest of the way to face him, and he stretched out his arm so she could lay her head against it. 

“What if there’s a lot of lyrium in Samson’s base?” she asked. “Will you be alright? What if it affects your ability to fight?” 

“I will be fine,” he insisted. “You need to quit worrying about me, and instead focus on the mission and your safety.” 

Katria glanced down. “You know, if you’re going to give me a lecture as my advisor, you should probably put some clothes on. Might be more convincing.”

Cullen grunted, but covered his eyes when more light began to pour into the tent onto his face. She sat up and looked behind her. The sun had started rising, which meant it was past time for her to be up. 

“We should get going,” she said. 

“Wait,” Cullen began, sitting up beside her. He grabbed her waist and pulled her into a long, slow kiss that pushed her down onto her back. He eventually pulled away. 

“Be careful today,” he said, before kissing her cheek a final time and springing up from the bedroll to begin putting his armor on. She got ready beside him, and it was all terribly nice and domestic, like the past ten days had been. She supposed this time was the greatest degree of normal they would ever feel when their job on this particular morning was assaulting a red-lyrium infested shrine in order to stop the operations of a darkspawn magister and his companions. But if this was what her life had to be, so utterly bizarre and allegedly preordained, there was no one she'd rather fight this evil with.


	41. Chapter Forty-One

Some of Leliana’s agents in the field reported an increase in activity overnight at the Shrine of Dumat. Cullen dismissed it with his single-minded determination that they _would_ capture Samson—although the doubt in his eyes was evident despite his insistence. Once they were ready, he sent his squadron to cut off a group of red Templars seen leaving the area, which left the rest of them to travel into the temple. 

They crossed a vast expanse of sand, the stone and spikes of the Tevinter architecture on the shrine a stark contrast to the landscape around it. Katria stopped them near the front of the structure. There was smoke billowing from the courtyard and flames were concentrated, but still burning, in some areas. She surveyed the area. Four guards, three horrors—wretched, misshapen things with red lyrium shooting from their backs. 

Cullen was beside her. “This is it. The heart of Samson’s command.”

Katria continued to investigate the courtyard with her sharp eyes. “I don’t see him anywhere,” she whispered back. “Or hear him.” 

“Nor I,” Cullen said, then sighed. “Maker, tell me he hasn’t fled…”

She turned back around to the others. “Varric, flank the horror on the right battlement, once he’s down, that area should be a good vantage point for you. Cass and Cullen go up the center. Dorian, cover me while I’m up there if you can.” 

She looked at Cullen. “If you don’t remember from Haven, some of these guys like to shot red lyrium _at_ you, which I can confirm is not a pleasant experience. The horrors don’t have weapons, just claws, but they were real Templars once, so they still favor their sword arms and don’t have shields, so it’s easy work getting rid of some of them.”

Cassandra snorted quietly beside her, but Katria dismissed her with a wave of her hand. She reached into a pocket sewn into her armor and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. She crept into the courtyard, skipping the first set of steps to the battlements that were obstructed by various crates and guarded by horrors. The area was not a promising sign concerning if Samson was still around—two or three tents that had been set up were now collapsed and burning, which Katria assumed was not simply some decorative preference for Samson, but instead an indication that he’d fled and trashed his own camp. 

Katria reached the upper level of the courtyard through the second set of steps. She crouched down by a corner, aware that her powders gave her an eerie shimmer that to the trained eye was very noticeable. She pulled out one of her small daggers, barely the length of her hand, and hurled it at the Templar guard furthest from her. It lodged itself into his neck, and he went staggering sideways. In the split second his two companions turned to look at him, Katria sprang forward and buried her weapons in the weak points of another guard’s armor, at the juncture of the arm and neck. 

The guard cried out and spun his sword wildly around. Katria ducked just in time and used her momentum to ram her shoulder into him and send him flailing backwards over the ledge and into a pile of burning debris. Rocks skidded behind her as the remaining guard raised his sword up. Katria staggered out of the way. 

The problem with their particular combat strategy, that was likely enraging Cullen beyond reason, was that Katria heading up their team in stealth to take out the biggest targets left her vulnerable once she was actually visible. Cass usually drew some attention away from her with her ferocity, but it still took time for the Seeker to reach her. 

Katria parried the blow by crossing her daggers, but the stronger guard drew her weapons sideways and then hit her straight in the chest with his shield. She flew backwards, her elbows scraping the stone tiles under her as she tried to stop herself. She had only managed to hang on to one of her daggers and raised it in an attempt to block another blow as she stood. 

Her dagger clanged against the guard’s longsword, and the next thing she felt was a shock travel straight through her spine. A bolt of lightning had slammed into the Templar from Dorian’s staff, starting at its metal helmet and traveling to Katria’s arm. She felt her back slam into the ground and she groaned. 

Katria rolled onto her side, clamoring to pull herself up without using her aching arm. She made it to her feet, heard a shout behind her, and threw a dagger at the horror charging for her. It landed in the thin slit in its helmet. The horror staggered back for a moment, but was not deterred, and returned the favor by sending shards of red lyrium shooting towards her. Katria spun out of the way, but felt one of the pieces cut a line across the side of her neck. 

Her hand flew there and clamped down on the gash—blood leaked past her fingers and into the collar of her coat. She looked up at the horror just in time to see Cassandra burying her blade into its stomach. Katria tried to step forward, but stopped when a hot pain exploded in her leg. She groaned when she looked down—another shard had sliced her across the calf. 

Cassandra was using her foot as leverage against the now-lifeless horror to pull out her sword. “Inquisitor,” she said, reaching for her belt and tossing her a small vial. Katria caught it, hesitating for a moment, before she pushed the cap off with her thumb and downed the potion; the pain in her neck and leg subsided. She let it fall to the ground as she gathered up her other sword. 

Dorian appeared beside her. “Sorry about the lightning, my dear.” 

Cullen rushed up the middle set of steps—Katria did a check to make sure he was alright, but the angry crease in his brow caught her attention. 

“You electrocuted the Inquisitor!” he snapped. 

“It was an accident,” Dorian replied. 

“No, Commander Cullen is right,” Katria said. She turned the horror over with her foot and retrieved her dagger from its face, grinning. “I was positively _shocked_ you’d do something like that to me.” 

Dorian laughed, throwing his head back, until he noticed Cullen’s unamused expression. He stifled his reaction and sighed. “Why did we invite him again?” 

Cullen frowned. “Inquisitor-,” 

Katria heard a loud _thump_ before the doors to the temple flew open. A stream of more guards pushed through the doorway, followed by a Behemoth—she hadn’t seen one since their first trip to the Emprise du Lion. It seemed bigger than she remembered; red lyrium shards consumed it, spiking up and making it at least fifteen feet tall. It let out a screech before continuing its slow, lumbering march forward. 

“Fuck,” Katria snapped derisively. She muffled a groan and turned back to them. “Varric, same spot. We need to get rid of the others before the Behemoth, it’s slow, but watch out.” She disappeared in a puff of smoke, sliding down the steps towards a Templar archer aiming at Dorian. The rest of them targeted the guards by the door. 

The archer was roughly her height once Katria raised herself from her crouching position behind him. She reached around the side of him where his bow wasn’t drawn and sliced her dagger across his throat. His hand shot up to her arm with a strangled gasp before his grip loosened and he collapsed in a bloody puddle on the stone. 

“Cat, help me out!”

Katria looked up above her and saw Varric recoiling as one of his arrows hit a Templar guard’s tower shield and ricocheted off. Two guards and one warrior were closing in on him. 

“Coming!” she shouted back. 

A pile of crates and supplies had been gathered by the wall, probably waiting to be burned before such efforts were interrupted. Katria leapt up the debris, pushing hard on the last crate to give her the momentum to jump just slightly above their heads. She threw two daggers as she landed that hit the two guards at the neck and rolled to cushion her fall. She pulled both swords from her back, dodging the downward swing she expected from the remaining warrior. He staggered past her, slightly bent over from the weight of his sword, and Katria flipped her dagger in her hand to slam the hilt of it hard into his helmet. As he collapsed on his knee, she used her other dagger across his neck. 

Varric had taken out one guard, so only one remained. He was too far for the reach of Katria’s larger weapons, so she tossed one of them high into the air and in the meanwhile threw a smaller dagger at the opening of his helmet. She caught her sword as it came into view, giving a satisfied smirk as blood poured from the guard’s helmet as he collapsed on the ground, dead. 

“Now you’re just being a show-off,” Varric said. 

“Or I’m just that good!” she called back over her shoulder as she sprinted back towards the door. Cass and Cullen were flanking the Behemoth. A bolt of lightning slammed into it from above and sent it staggering down the stairs. Katria jumped over the railing and approached the Behemoth from behind. She reared her sword back further than normal and buried it as far as possible into the Behemoth’s center. It screeched again and staggered forward, another clash of lightning slamming into it as Katria released the hilt of her blade. The Behemoth tipped forward and fell to the ground motionless, making the stone tiles shake under their feet. Cass and Cullen jumped out of the way as it fell. 

Katria wiped her sleeve across her brow, aware now of a pain in her side. She ignored it and limped down the steps to the lifeless monster. She rested her foot on its lyrium corrupted frame, yanking a few times on her sword until it came out and sent her stumbling backwards. She straightened back up. 

“Everyone alright?” she asked. 

“We need to get in there,” Cullen said, and she tried not to be bothered by how singularly-minded he could be at times. “There might be reinforcements.”

Katria looked over at him and saw a gash on his arm between his vambraces and his pauldron. She walked over and firmly grabbed his upper arm despite his protests. A red lyrium shard had cut him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“Oh, just removing the red _lyrium_ shards from a wound on a recovering _lyrium_ addict— is that alright with you, Commander?” she snapped back at him. 

She dug her fingers purposefully hard into the cut, pulling out two slivers of lyrium. When she was sure she’d gotten all of it, she pressed a healing potion into his breastplate. 

Cullen took it from her. “We should get going,” he said. 

She gave a curt nod, and they headed for the doors of the compound. Katria stopped at the threshold and balked at the wall of smoke that hit them—it made her eyes water and her throat burn. 

She coughed. “This place is already half-destroyed.” 

Cassandra sighed beside her. “Samson must have ordered his Templars to sack his headquarters, so we couldn’t.”

“I think you’re right,” Cullen said grimly. “Still, we’ve dealt Samson a blow.” 

Katria walked further into the room. There were massive deposits of red lyrium around them; that plus the smoke filled the whole room with a heavy, sickening stench. They moved past pyres of burning debris and into another room. It was a darker vestibule of sorts, with shards of lyrium almost three times her size jutting from the ground. 

“I don’t know about you,” Varric began, taking a wide breadth around the lyrium. “But I prefer your décor choices to Samson’s.” 

“I’ll be sure to ask Josie to return those red lyrium sculptures I commissioned, then,” Katria remarked sarcastically from in front of him. “Thought they would add a little pizazz to the Great Hall.” 

“And people ask me why I think the Inquisitor has no taste,” Dorian said.

“Are you all done?” Cullen snapped as he pushed past her for the door on the other side of the room. Katria watched him walk. Even with his armor, she could see that his entire body was tense. There was sweat glistening on his brow, his hands were shaking—the volume of lyrium around was not good for him. It was clearly putting him in a sour mood. 

“Cullen, this is dangerous,” she said. “Maybe you should-,” 

He spun around. “I am not leaving.” 

Katria raised her hand, her palm facing him, in a placating gesture. “I understand this is important of you, but I will not allow-,”

Cullen clenched his jaw. “ _You_ will not allow?”

“Yes, in case you’ve forgotten, I am in charge and-,” 

She stopped when she saw movement behind him, an eerie shimmer that made the red glow of the lyrium behind him flex. Katria instinctively reached for a small dagger at her chest and hurled it past him. Cullen spun out of the way—she would have hit him if she were _actually_ aiming at him, but it instead slammed into a red Templar shadow that appeared behind him. The dagger only made contact with its shoulder, and it flailed around, screeching, before Varric put an arrow in its chest. 

Katria scrutinized Cullen, whose expression was now shocked more than anything. “You’re welcome,” she said, pushing on the heavy door in front of them with both hands. “But let’s not tarry. Maker forbid we lose sight of our objective!” 

She walked into the room without letting him reply. The last room in the shrine was more of the same nauseating swirls of lyrium and smoke. She squinted when she saw a slouching figure in the darkness. 

Katria cautiously crossed the room, stopping in front of a young man slumped against the wall. He was pale, his hair short and shaved close to his head, making the Tranquil brand on his forehead highly visible. 

“Hello, Inquisitor,” he said weakly. 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “Maddox, I assume?” 

Cullen hurried up behind her and crouched down. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “I’ll send for the healers.” 

Maddox briefly raised his hand a few inches off the ground. “That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen. I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.” 

She furrowed her brow. “We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox.”

“Yes,” he said in a mellow voice. “That is what I could not allow. I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.”

Katria flinched at that. It was _always_ fire, wasn’t it? 

“You threw your lives away?” Cullen demanded incredulously. “For _Samson_? Why?”

Maddox turned his head to look at him. “Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again.” He cleared his throat. “I…wanted to…help.” His chin dropped to his chest as he let out his final breath, and Katria gave a quiet sigh. 

Cullen was staring down at the ground with his fists clenched. He slowly brought himself to his feet. “We should check the camp,” he said evenly. “Maddox might have missed something.” 

Katria nodded. “Alright.” She gestured around to everyone else. “Fan out.” 

She walked over to a desk nearby and felt Cullen following her. 

Varric called out from behind a wall of lyrium. “Found some lyrium bottles—six or seven. Licked clean.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “How much red lyrium was Samson taking? His resistance must be extraordinary.” 

He froze as he was shifting through the parchment on the half-charred desk in front of them. “Samson…left a message. For me.” 

Katria walked over to him. “What does it say?”

He pursed his lips. “Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general and his vessel of power. Other such nonsense.” Cullen crumpled the note in his hand and threw it into the embers across the room. “Does he think I’ll understand? What does he know?” 

Katria waited until Cullen marched into the other room, then picked up the letter, shaking off the embers and pressing out the crinkles against her thigh. This _vessel_ nonsense of Samson’s intrigued her, even if Cullen was too blinded by his anger to have any interest. She followed after him once she’d tucked the letter away. Cullen was at a metal workbench, sorting through what looked like heaping chunks of metal. It was likely Maddox’s workspace—Katria still found it hard to grasp that someone, all these Templars, were willing to sacrifice so much for someone whom Cullen saw as basically the root of all evil. 

“What else do you remember about Samson?” Katria asked once she was beside him. “The man he used to be.” 

Cullen did not look up. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “‘He used to be kind’ only carries so far.” He put down the metal prongs in his hand and gave a sharp exhale. “Yet Maddox died to help him escape. Samson does command loyalty.” 

He directed her attention to the workbench. “This must have been Maddox’s room. The fire couldn’t destroy these entirely. Whatever they are.” 

Dorian peered over her shoulder. “Those are lyrium-forming implements. Of _remarkable_ design. Intact, they’d be worth a fortune.”

Katria glanced back at him. “I know I dragged you around Orlais for some reason.”

“My intelligence and winning smile?” he suggested, showing her his teeth. 

Cullen began muttering to himself. “Tranquil often design their own tools. Dagna should be able to make sense of them. If Maddox used these tools to make Samson’s armor…she could use them to unmake it!” He finally looked up. “We have him, Inquisitor,” he said.

“Yes, well, let’s gather…” She stopped when she noticed him leaning heavily against the workbench, a small groan escaping from his lips. “Cullen?” 

There was a vein of red lyrium a few feet from him, so when he collapsed sideways onto his knees, Katria should not have been surprised.

“Cullen!” 

She immediately flew to his side, putting a hand on the back of his head. He used one arm to push her away as he struggled to stand. 

“No,” he ground out. “No, I am _fine_. I’m not done here.”

Cullen staggered against the table, holding his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving. 

“You _are_ done,” Katria told him. “You have to get out of here. We will keep searching.” Her stomach loudly protested to that suggestion because the lyrium disoriented her as well. She could not imagine what it was doing to Cullen.

He shook his head. “I will _not_ let this-,”

“The only thing you’re letting this do is kill you,” she interrupted tersely. “I am the Inquisitor, and I order you to get out. Now.” 

“This is important to me!” he exclaimed. 

Katria ignored him. “Cass, please escort Commander Cullen from the compound and see that he takes cares of himself.” 

Cullen stared at her, his expression furious, but his bloodshot eyes and shaking hands were obvious signs that the lyrium was affecting him. His safety was more important than a melted chunk of tools. 

“Go,” she said, with a finality she hoped could not be argued with. “I will collect everything I can. I promise.” 

Cullen did not reply and instead just followed the Seeker out the door. He didn’t make it five steps before he stopped, clutching his stomach and groaning. 

Katria turned away from him and went back into the room with Maddox’s body. They searched the rest of the area, and, finding nothing else of interest, gathered up the tools they could carry for Dagna. Once some Inquisition soldiers arrived, Katria arranged to give Maddox a proper burial. Eventually, the smoke and lyrium deposits became too much for even her to handle—she felt like she was going to vomit or faint if she didn’t get some fresh air, and fast. 

The fresh air, of course, opened her mind enough to give her time to think about how angry Cullen was with her. She told herself it was the lyrium—of course it was. Being around it was a danger to his life, so his temper was shorter, although he remained as stubborn as he ever was. _She_ perhaps should have been more understanding of his plight, but his _obsession_ with Samson was becoming…tiresome. 

She’d been gone for a month and half to the Emprise du Lion, and Cullen hardly had any interest in greeting her upon her return, only wanted to discuss Samson, the red Templars, the quarry. She had felt selfish and vain, thinking that he should pay more attention to her—Samson was their enemy, who was doing deplorable things, and they were basically trying to save the world. Her personal concerns shouldn’t matter. But that didn’t mean that every time since her return, Katria wasn’t mentally tallying all the times his interest was focused solely on his work. And that list had gotten longer now than she was comfortable with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow! With talking! Because dialogue is great and action is so much harder for me to write but I do it anyway because what's a romance without a little combat?


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

Katria returned to the camp with a stack of letters that needed reading. One of them was from Leliana, who suggested that they meet each other in Valence to investigate the message Leliana had received from Divine Justinia. Katria knew that it was a logical idea. They were in north Orlais, and her and her team could easily take the Imperial Highway to their destination, rather than coming back to Skyhold and then returning to the area. But Maker, part of her wished she could be with Cullen for some discernable amount of time in order to _figure out_ what was going on. 

It was the late afternoon by the time she returned to her tent after telling her party about her plans to travel to Valence—she would have preferred to travel alone, but had no interest in getting in an argument with Cassandra about how irresponsible that was. 

Cullen was asleep on the bedroll when she arrived. There was sweat on his forehead, and the rest of his body was shivering. Katria felt some confusing mixture of worry, guilt, smugness—he should have listened to her sooner, she was _right_ , and being around red lyrium was a bad idea, as it only exacerbated his withdrawal symptoms.

Katria sat down beside his sleeping frame, letting out a long sigh. She situated herself so that his pillow and head were rested on her lap. Her fingers made slow lines in his hair—it was wavier after their assault on the shrine, the ends curled up completely from his neck. Almost an hour passed, and he hardly stirred. She eventually released him to find something to eat, and bring a plate for him as well. Her eyes lingered on him as she crouched beside him. 

“Why must you always be so stubborn, my prince?” she muttered. 

Katria dropped her hand from his face and went outside. She sat with Dorian and ate by the fire—and pouted, according to him, so she migrated to Cullen’s squadron and congratulated them on their progress. By the time it was dark, Katria felt exhausted, dead on her feet, and trudged back to her tent. She pushed aside the flap and stopped when she saw Cullen awake, strapping his breastplate across his chest. 

“Typically, armor goes _on_ in the morning and _off_ in the evening,” Katria remarked. She stayed at the front of the tent.

Cullen didn’t look over at her. “I have work to do tonight.” He pulled his coat on and fastened it while he walked over and stood in front of her, mostly because she was blocking his way out. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” she asked. 

“Is that an order, Inquisitor?” He frowned. “You are _in charge_ , after all.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to apologize for giving you an order, Cullen.” 

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said. He reached up and applied pressure to her arm to encourage her to move aside. 

She did not want to be done with their conversation. “I’m leaving for Valence tomorrow.” 

It occurred to her that her decision to leave, while logical, might not have been motivated by that reason. She wanted to see that look on Cullen’s face—the disappointment that she was leaving him, that she was not going to tolerate his anger.

He met her gaze, and she got the expression she was looking for because his brow creased. “Why?” 

Katria did not feel satisfied seeing his disappointment—she felt guilt rip through her. It was childish to have wanted that. She looked at the ground and shrugged. “No point in going all the way to Skyhold just to turn around and travel in the same direction. Taking the Imperial Highway from here will be quicker.” 

“You’re taking the rest of your party with you, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. 

They sat in silence for a few moments. “Do you have to go right now?” she asked him softly. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “I have many matters to attend to, Inquisitor.”

Katria rubbed the back of her head and stepped aside. “Right. Well. I won’t keep you then.” 

Cullen gave her a nod and then disappeared from the tent. 

===

Cullen spent most the night doing any sort of work he could. Things _were_ busy—he wanted to properly investigate every piece of what was salvaged from Samson’s base, he had orders to give, letters to write, but he also did not want to face Katria. He had been positively _furious_ when she told him to leave the complex. Looking back on it, he was probably entirely too furious. 

During the assault, Cullen acutely felt the effects of the red lyrium, the fumes, the eerie glow that emanated from it, made him violently ill. In the courtyard it had been better, but in the enclosed space of the temple, his vision was blurry and his head was spinning. But he told himself that he did not journey all the way to this forsaken desert to give up. His decision to quit taking lyrium was _not_ going to keep him from doing his job—capturing Samson. But it had. 

It was a few hours before sunrise when Cullen returned to his tent, trying to ignore the fact that he still had a splitting headache and was utterly exhausted. Katria was asleep on the bedroll, turned away from him. Part of the blanket that was wrapped around her was clenched in her hands. She always slept that way, curled partially into a ball, trying to make herself as small as possible. 

After removing his armor, Cullen crept forward and laid behind her, keeping almost an arm’s length between them. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and wondered if she’d wake up if he scooted forward and put his hand on her side like he normally did. He decided against it, instead bringing his arm up and folding it underneath his head. Her dark hair was splayed out behind her on the pillow like a cape, damp, and drying in soft waves.

He reached out and touched the cold strands, feeling them between his fingertips. Her hair had gotten longer since they first met, and Cullen found that he liked it that way. It made her seem softer because the rest of her face, her eyes, cheekbones, the prominent line of her nose, always looked so sharp. He let the soft strands of her hair slide along his palm and back onto the pillow with a sigh. Cullen returned his arm to his chest, shifted until he was in a comfortable position, and fell asleep.

When Cullen awoke, the tent was filled with light. He smelled food, heard muffled voices outside, the scratch of a quill against parchment. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. It was too late in the morning—he should not have allowed himself to sleep for so long. 

Katria was sitting at his small table, fully armored, her head bowed as her quill moved across a piece of parchment. She did not look up as she spoke. 

“I saved some food from breakfast for you. I didn’t know if you’d be hungry.”

“Thank you,” he said, as he walked over and sat across from her. 

She continued writing, but gestured to a stack of letters with her free hand. “These are for you. Us, I guess. Just updates. Nothing urgent.” 

Cullen slid them over, but before he could start reading, Katria cleared her throat. 

“Leliana sent some information on Corypheus’ movement towards the Arbor Wilds,” she said. “She and Morrigan found where they think he is going. When you get back to Skyhold, I’d like you to start preparations to march there. I know it’s a long process, and we’ve still got allies to contact, but I’d rather start now.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he replied. “I will begin the process as soon as I arrive back at Skyhold.” 

Katria signed her letter and placed her quill back on the table. As she folded it and slid it into her cloak, she looked up at him. 

“I’m…leaving for Valence in a few minutes.” 

“A few…” Cullen furrowed his brow. “Did you simply plan on departing without saying anything to me?” 

She looked guiltily at her boots. “I don’t…”

He tried to reign in his angry tone. “Have a safe trip, I suppose. I will update you on our progress per your orders.” 

“Thank you,” she all but mumbled as she stood. 

The flap at the other side of the tent was flung open, and Dorian poked his head in. 

“Are you ready yet?” he asked. “If we leave quickly, I think we should be able to make it to that tavern I like so much by nightfall!” 

“I’m coming right now,” she said, with an attempt at a smile, and he disappeared with a nod. 

Katria started to walk from the table, before Cullen reached out and grabbed her wrist. She stopped and turned slightly towards him with a surprised expression. 

He hesitated. “I…” Cullen brought her hand up, pressing his lips against the cool skin on her knuckles. “Be safe, alright?” 

Katria swallowed, breathing faster, but instead of saying anything, she just nodded. He released her hand and turned back to his letters. She wordlessly gathered her things, securing daggers at her side, sliding on her boots, before she made a small noise in her throat once she was at the other end of the tent. He looked over at her, and she gave a weak wave of her hand before awkwardly putting her arm back at her side. 

“Farewell, Inquisitor,” he said, and she disappeared. 

=== 

The trip to Valence took about five days. Katria found that she very much enjoyed visiting the quaint, sea-side hamlet after being forced to camp in deserts, bogs, and frozen wastelands for so many months. Leliana met up with them in a matter of days, and while the rest of her party stayed in town, Katria and the Spymaster headed to the Chantry. 

The church was fairly large, made of marble, and carved in the distinct, and extravagant, Orlesian style. Inside, there were massive statues depicting various religious figures, surrounded by the dark red heraldry of the Chantry and plenty of gold filigree. 

Leliana led her through the first room, gazing up at the high-arched ceilings in awe. 

“It’s just as I remember it,” she said. 

Katria stood beside her when she stopped. “You didn’t tell me you’d been here before.” 

“After the Blight ended, I came here to see Justinia,” she explained. “She was just Dorothea then, a Revered Mother.” 

“It’s peaceful here,” Katria said, her eyes following the plush red carpet under their feet. “If you like churches,” she muttered under her breath. 

Leliana nodded. “It was a place of comfort. It’s good to see it still untouched by Corypheus.” 

They heard footsteps echoing through the eerily quiet hallway. A Chantry sister appeared. 

“Leliana? Is that you?”

“Sister Natalie!” she exclaimed, smiling. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Val Royeaux?”

The Chantry Sister passed Katria and pulled Leliana into a hug. Leliana caught her gaze from over the woman’s shoulder and shook her head with a grave look. Katria suppressed a sigh. Why was it that someone was _always_ trying to kill her and/or get something political from her?

The woman stepped back. “I’ve been here since Justinia died,” she said. “This place makes me feel like…she’s still with us.” 

Leliana turned to Katria. “Inquisitor, this is Natalie. A trusted friend.”

Katria opened her mouth to say something, but Natalie balked at her introduction. 

“Wait, Inquisitor?” she said hurriedly. “You brought the Inquisitor here?”

Natalie bowed on one knee. “My Lady, forgive me for not recognizing you earlier.” 

Katria was used to this by now—the same spot on her head began to ache every time it happened, and she’d clench her teeth. She’d gotten better about her reactions, though, because she didn’t openly recoil at such reverence. 

She smiled slightly. “You owe me twenty readings of the Canticle of Trials for that insult.”

Natalie’s eyebrows rose, indicating that Katria’s attempt at Chantry humor had failed miserably. 

Leliana laughed softly. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t,” Katria agreed. “I’m very funny. Usually.” 

“Oh,” she said, smiling politely as she stood.

“Natalie, listen,” Leliana said. “There is something hidden here. Something Justinia left for me.” 

“Oh, really? What is it?” she asked. 

Leliana shook her head. “I don’t know, but we’ll find it. Justinia’s letter came with instructions for me. They were a little cryptic.” 

Leliana handed Katria the letter, and she read briefly through the clues the Divine had left. She snorted quietly after reading them, remembering how cryptic the Divine in the Fade had been. Katria methodically worked through the Chantry with them while the two friends talked, finding a series of levers that hopefully led to whatever Justinia had left and didn’t send the roof falling onto their heads instead. 

They moved into the main room of the church—a rotunda with a statue to Andraste as its centerpiece, surrounded by large torches. Once Katria had followed the directions of the last clue, a click echoed through the quiet room. 

“Looks like we opened something,” Leliana remarked. 

Katria walked over to the far end of the rotunda. A large mural had been painted on the wall, but there were separate panels attached that she could now move. She pulled them forward and heard another click. A secret panel slid back, revealing a small room behind the mural. 

Katria heard scuffling behind her and spun around in time to see Leliana pinning Natalie to the base of the statue of Andraste with her dagger at her neck.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Leliana snapped. 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Leliana, if you wanted to show off that nice dagger of yours to Natalie, don’t hold it so close to her neck.” 

The Spymaster looked back at her and frowned. “I’m protecting us.” 

“They never sing the Benedictions here on Fridays," Leliana said to Natalie, once she turned forward. "Something so simple, yet you got it so wrong. I wanted to believe, but you were lying from the start.” 

The woman said nothing, and merely glared at her with a defiant stare. 

Leliana smiled thinly. “Keep that pretty mouth shut if you must, dear. You’ve already told me everything I need to know.” She gestured to her skirt. “The prickleweed burs on your hem-,”

Katria snapped her fingers. “You talked about the sun rising through the Breach, too,” she said. “I’ve only see that happen when I’m in the southwest, in Orlais. You’re not a very good spy, are you?” 

“It all points to one place: Morelle in the Dales,” Leliana said. “Grand Cleric Victoire’s bastion. She sent you, didn’t she? Victoire was always an opportunist.” 

Natalie finally spoke. “The Inquisition has turned Thedas away from the true Chantry,” she spat. “It must be stopped.” 

“Stop us?” Leliana sneered. “You must be joking.” 

“Mother Victoire is well loved by many,” Natalie said. “The Inquisition has more enemies than you know.”

“I doubt that,” Katria muttered. 

Leliana brought the dagger closer to her neck. “And Victoire thinks she can ally with them?”

Katria shook her head. “Why is it that these people are more concerned about _politics_ than the darkspawn magister trying to destroy the world?”

“You will not stop anyone without the Maker’s blessing,” Natalie snapped. 

Leliana dug her elbow harder into her throat.

Natalie scowled. “Kill me then,” she said. “I am not afraid to die for my beliefs. At least I still know what I believe.”

Katria rushed forward. “Well, you know, _I_ believe we don’t need to be slicing any throats at this moment,” she said, nervously studying the focused and malevolent expression on Leliana’s face. 

The Spymaster tightened her hand around her dagger, her teeth bared. “The Grand Cleric…”

“Leliana, do not kill her,” Katria ordered. “Let her go.” 

“I am protecting the Inquisition!” she insisted, not moving. 

Katria’s heart skipped a few beats—this had happened before, in Redcliffe. She remembered the look in Leliana’s eyes then, when she’d slashed a knife across Felix Alexius’ throat, with no mercy, no guilt about it. That couldn’t happen now. Katria took a tentative step closer and lowered her voice. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “We both promised to not lose sight of ourselves. Our compassion. She does not need to die.” 

A tense silence hung between them, Leliana still staring with her mouth set in a hard line at Natalie. Eventually, and so slowly, her expression faded. The knife fell to her side and she stepped back. 

“Run,” Leliana said in a low voice. “Tell your mistress that she has a choice. The Inquisition is coming.”

Natalie gave them both one last, fearful look before hurrying out of the rotunda. Leliana took a deep breath through her nose. Katria reached for her, but she turned away. 

“Let’s see what Justinia left me.” 

They both walked into the secret room. A small, white and gold box was waiting on the table for Leliana. She opened it with shaking hands. 

“No!” she said abruptly, gasping. “This can’t be. There’s nothing here!”

“Well, fuck,” Katria said, although she regretted letting her gut reaction come out. “Are you sure?” she asked more calmly.

Leliana squinted and lifted the box towards her. “There’s a message carved in the lid,” she said. “The Left Hand should lay down her burden.”

She lowered it back to the table, her brows furrowed. “She…She’s releasing me. The Divine has a long reach, but it is always her left hand that stretches out.” Leliana slowly turned to her, and Katria rested beside her on the table. 

She sighed and continued. “A thousand lies. A thousand deaths. Her commands, but my conscience that bore the consequences.” 

“Justinia apologized in the Fade,” Katria remarked. “She said she failed you. This is what she meant.” 

“All this time, Justinia carried the fear that she was using me, just like I’d been used in the past,” Leliana said. “But she needed me. No one else could’ve done what I did. She knows that.” 

Katria swallowed and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s over, now, though. You have to let it go. Let her go. The guilt too. You don’t owe her anything anymore.” 

She felt a surprising calm about her words. She was normally the _worst_ person to give advice on emotional matters in her opinion, but this, letting go, Katria could understand. Not that she'd done it perfectly or completely herself, but she knew that it could help. That guilt had to be let go of and compassion held on to. 

Leliana shifted and looked down. “If it were not for you, I would have killed Natalie and called it a good thing.” 

Katria put her hand on her shoulder. “If not for you, I would have never recovered and stayed the shell of the person who came out of the Fade at Adamant.” 

Leliana pushed herself from the table, the small box tight in her grasp. “Thank you for showing me what was right when I couldn’t see it for myself, Katria.” 

She smiled slightly and followed her out into the rotunda. “Thank you for doing the same for me.” 

They continued towards the door. “We should head back to Skyhold as soon as possible to prepare for the march to the Arbor Wilds,” Leliana remarked, then grinned. “I hope you won’t have any qualms about anyone taking a dagger to Corypheus’ throat.” 

Katria snorted. “I’m first in line to have that honor, trust me. We can leave right now if you’d like.”

She shrugged. “Well, since we’re _here_ , I thought we could stop by one of my favorite footwear vendors in Orlais!” 

Katria grimaced as she pushed open the door to the Chantry. “Shopping, really?” She waved her hand in dismissal when Leliana gave her a pleading look. “Alright, alright, we can go _shopping_. But only because we’re friends.” 

Leliana patted her back. “And for that, I am glad.”


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW--part 2!

While the Inquisitor was in Valence, Cullen worked diligently readying their troops for their eventual march to the Arbor Wilds. When she returned, he was prepared to give her a full report on their progress as well as information on Samson’s whereabouts. He did so in the War Room, but poorly. 

It wasn’t that Katria was _trying_ to distract him in any way—in fact, she only gave him a small smile and a toneless greeting upon seeing him. But he found that seeing her for the first time in almost a month made him realize how much he’d missed her. Instead of coming straight to Skyhold after their business in Valence concluded, Katria stopped in the Exalted Plains, even made a brief visit to the Emerald Graves. Josephine said it was excellent for morale, but Cullen couldn’t help but wonder if she was purposefully trying to postpone her return to Skyhold. Either way, her presence triggered a flood of emotions in him that were exacerbated by—by how beautiful he thought she was. How charming her smile was. How cute it was that she kept pushing tendrils of her hair from her face. 

Maker, it would be much easier to be angry at this woman if he weren’t so much in love with her. 

Cullen clenched his hand tightly around his sword, forcing himself to concentrate for the hours they remained there. Once they had exhausted all avenues of conversation, Katria left with a polite smile. 

He managed to shuffle around his office for almost an hour before deciding he needed to see her. Cullen hurried to her quarters and climbed up the stairs. Katria was by her desk, but was not facing him. He watched as she threw up a wad of paper high into the air, almost to the ceiling, took two steps back, then threw a dagger at it, pinning the parchment to the wall. Based on the marks, she’d done this four or five times.

“Maker’s breath, Katria,” he began. “What are you doing?” 

She turned and her brow rose. “Cullen?” Her eyes drifted to her desk and she quickly crumpled up the papers strewn there. “Er, hi. Can I help you?” 

He walked over to her. “Are you…alright?” 

Katria nodded. “Yes, thank you.” 

She had missed one of the papers on her desk. At the top it said, _dear Cullen_. “You’re writing me a letter?” he asked. 

Katria winced, covering the parchment he had seen. “Oh, well, I…” She stopped and sighed, her palms flat on her desk. “Fine, yes, I was. I just thought that maybe a letter would help me communicate with you, but apparently I have no capacity to formulate coherent thoughts in any form.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

She gave a sharp laugh. “Us? Me? Everything?” Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Everything and your—your job, Cullen. This Samson business that has utterly consumed you.” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “What do you mean?” 

Katria made a small, frustrated noise in her throat, pushing away from the desk and nervously pulling at her braid. “You’ve—there have been some times when…I’ve been hurt by-,” She stopped and shook her head. “No, nope. Never mind.” 

Cullen reached forward and grabbed her arm. “Hurt by me?” 

“I can’t _say_ that,” Katria said. “I can’t tell you that I’ve been hurt by the times you’ve ignored me for your job because your _job_ is saving Thedas!” 

“I don’t work all the time,” he said. 

“ _Only_ because if you literally worked all the time it would kill you.” 

Cullen let go of her and put his hand on his side. “I work as much as I need to. Do you realize how many responsibilities I have? Maker, you asked me to prepare for _battle_ last month.”

“And what about your obsession with Samson?” she asked. “You were _mad_ at me because I tried to save your life!” 

“The red lyrium wouldn’t have killed me,” Cullen insisted. 

“That’s not the point,” she said. “It could have done some severe damage to you in your condition and you didn’t care at all!” 

“I did care,” he protested. “But what was _more_ important was capturing Samson.” He threw his hand up. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. All you have to say about Samson is how sorry you feel for him.” 

“That’s because I’m trying to give you some perspective,” she said. 

“I know Samson!” Cullen snapped abruptly. “I do not need _perspective_.”

Katria did not reply, simply turned away from him and leaned against her desk. He walked over, so he was standing behind her. 

“I should not have raised my voice at you.” 

Her eyes stayed glued to the ground. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about this anymore.” 

“We actually _do_ have to,” he said. “That’s how this works. You and I exchange words, reach a solution, I tell you I love you, you squirm awkwardly in response and-,” 

She spun around. “Are you making fun of me?” 

Cullen gave a half-smile. “Maybe, but I’m also telling the truth.” 

Katria sighed and dropped her arms, curling her fingers around the edge of the desk. “Fine. Here you go. When I came back from the Emprise du Lion, you…you sort of shut me out. I mean, we hadn’t seen each other for a month, and I had to _prompt_ you to greet me as Katria and…” She rubbed the side of her face. “That was hurtful. It made me think that all this time it’s really the Inquisitor you love so much, not me.” 

He waited a few moments, then nodded. “I remember. I’m sorry. I guess…” He rubbed his neck. “I guess that’s an example of a time when I _was_ a little distracted by my work. I’m sure it’s happened since then.”

Katria shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Cullen stepped forward and gently ran his fingers across her hand. “Please forgive me. Trust me when I say that I had no intention to hurt you.” He let out a breath through his nose. “Like you, I haven’t really done _this_ before. Ever since…what happened at Ferelden’s Circle Tower, all I’ve had is my work. In Kirkwall, I made few friends. I stopped writing to my family, so I basically had no one. All I did was carry out my duty as a Templar.”

He turned away from her. “And that work was not the good kind—I stood by while Meredith abused her power. When I came to the Inquisition, I was finally a part of a cause that was truly and purely _just_. I wanted to make it right, so I worked even more.” 

Katria slid from the desk and touched his arm. “Cullen-,” 

He spun to face her and put his hands on her cheeks. “Finding you was not supposed to happen. I have done terrible things in my life, and I have not atoned for them enough. I don’t deserve to be so happy and in love.” 

She slid her fingers along his lower arm, until her hand was touching his. “Yes, you do.” 

“I thought…” Cullen sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “I thought that if I found Samson, if I stopped him from further destroying the Order, it might finally be enough. I would have paid my debts for all the evil I’ve done and be the man you deserve.” 

Katria leaned back so she could look at him fully. Her eyes were glassy, and she moved her hand to his face. “You’re such a fool,” she said softly. 

“What?” 

She kissed him, her lips firm, yet soft, and then pulled away. “Despite my title, I am not some lofty prize that you will be socially worthy of once you have ‘proven’ yourself. I am just a woman, and I love you, and the only thing I want is a man who loves me back, and acts like it.” 

“I do,” he said quickly. “I love you very much.”

Katria smiled and slid her arms around his neck. “I also like tiny cakes. My job is very stressful, so I believe I deserve those, too.”

Cullen hugged her waist and pulled her off the ground a few inches. He put her back down and she gave a small laugh. 

“If this were one of Cassandra’s books, you’d tell me I deserve everything. Anything I want.” 

He grinned. “If I said you deserve _anything_ you want, you would ask for my coat. Again. And I’d have to turn you down, and aren’t you getting tired of that?” 

Katria threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t you know I’m the kind of woman who does not give up?” 

“I am aware,” he said. 

She leaned back towards him and nestled her head against his neck. Her finger made a nervous tattoo against his breastplate. “I’m—In the temple, maybe I was too harsh with you. I let myself fret before we even got there, and then when you collapsed, it was like all my worst fears were…” 

Cullen pulled back, still holding her shoulders. “It’s alright,” he said. “I hate that you worried so much.” 

“It’s just—your _life_ was at stake,” she said, then rubbed her temple. “I mean, I know that’s happened a lot, Adamant, Haven, but it just frightened me this time. Seeing you in danger like that.” 

He let out a sharp breath. “Maker…” His fingers found her face again. “Katria, that is precisely how I feel every time you leave Skyhold. You walk into danger, I _send_ you into it, and I worry so often that I will lose you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” she said. “I have a capable team with me at all times.” She stepped away and leaned against her desk. “Well, most of the time.” 

“That fact does not bring as much comfort as you would think,” he said. He walked the short distance to her bed and perched on the end of it. “It is a little easier now to watch you go.”

“Why?” she asked. 

Cullen gave a bashful smile, rubbing his neck with his hand. “You’re…” He cleared his throat. “Very good,” he murmured. 

Katria looked up from the desk. She giggled. “What?” 

He put his palms on his knees. “I said you were very good. In combat.” 

She perked up as she walked over and stood in front of him. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Cullen said. “I was very impressed by what I saw. It makes me feel a little better knowing you’re so capable.” 

Katria put her hand against his cheek, beaming. “I can’t believe _you_ are admitting my skills are useful.” 

“You might be one of the best I’ve ever seen,” he admitted, then reddened. 

She didn’t say anything for a few moments, and then he felt her lips against his. He responded to her immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her forward. 

They fell backwards onto the bed, and he gave her a long, unhurried kiss before pulling away. “Not that I mind doing this,” he began softly. “But what’s made you suddenly so…” 

She ran her hand down his breastplate. “You _complimented_ me.”

“I’ve…complimented you before, and not gotten quite this reaction,” he remarked, smiling slightly. 

Katria rested her hands just above his shoulders. The neckline of her tunic hung low enough that he could see her breasts, and he desperately hoped that they continued on their current trajectory even if it was the middle of the day.

“Well, sure,” she said, “But how meaningful are comments about my physical features? Beauty is just a matter of a bunch of inherited features that I didn’t work for, and I’m not even the most good-looking Trevelyan and-,” 

“You _are_ that,” he insisted, again drawn back to her chest, the way her hips were pressed against his already hardening cock. 

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, thank you.” Katria wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned down so their noses were almost touching. If it weren’t for his blasted armor, her breasts would be pressed against his chest. “I have worked for decades to be the best fighter I can be,” she said. “And you _noticed_ that. You think I’m good. The first time we met, you looked at me like I fought while wearing a dress, using ribbons as weapons.”

“That is true, perhaps,” he said. “But that is because you said you were an _Orlesian_ duelist. I did not realize that anyone could make those skills into something so practical. It's extraordinary, really.”

She firmly kissed him on the mouth. “Regardless, your compliment makes me very happy.” Her knees slid along the covers as she straddled him. She moved her hips against his, and he bit down on his tongue to keep from moaning. It had been so long since she’d been this close to him. 

Katria trailed her fingers through the fur on his coat. “Are you busy?” she asked innocently. “I thought we could spend some time together.” 

He tried to push himself onto his elbows, but she pinned him down flat against the bed. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

Katria shrugged. “A game of chess? Some light reading? Why don’t we go calibrate the trebuchets tog-,”

Cullen pulled at the bend of her elbow, so he could sit up and kiss her, hard. He flipped her over and put his hand at the back of her head, his fingers digging into the neat twists of her braid. He put his other hand flat on the covers beside her waist so his armor didn’t crush her. 

Katria was moving her fingers along his breastplate, through his coat, to the spot on his arm that wasn’t covered by his armor. She was apparently not satisfied with that area of contact because she reached down between them and pressed the pads of her fingers against the outside of his breeches, before wrapping her palm more completely around his cock. 

Cullen broke away from their kiss and gave a small exhale. “Maker…” He clenched his fingers in the blankets underneath them before sliding off her and sitting up. He began tearing off his gloves and the smaller pieces of his armor. 

Katria stood, and once his coat was off, helped him pull his breastplate over his head. “Your armor makes things decidedly unromantic,” she remarked. 

Cullen was bent over his knees while he unfastened his boots. “I thought you didn’t like romance, anyway?”

She gently placed his breastplate beside his growing pile of clothes and smirked. “Good point. Maybe I just like getting to the fun parts more quickly.” 

While Cullen shucked off his last boot, he snorted internally at her word choice because _fun_ is not the word he would use for sex. He looked up at her, and she broke into a wide smile, her cheeks flushed, and he loved her very much in that moment, so he stood, pulling her fully into his arms and into a frantic, open-mouthed kiss. He marveled at how warm and real she felt as his hands slid into her tunic.

Cullen tugged on her breeches and tried pulling them down while Katria urged him backwards towards the bed. She giggled and broke away from him. “What are you doing?” 

He gave a crooked smile. “I thought you wanted to get to the fun parts more quickly?” 

Katria bit her lower lip and nodded enthusiastically. She unlaced her breeches and pulled them off in a smooth motion. Cullen kissed her again while she impatiently pawed at the front of his shirt. He pulled his tunic over his head. 

“You also have…very nice legs,” he added. 

“Someone is just brimming with compliments today, I see,” she muttered. The back of Cullen’s knees hit the bed and he let himself fall back, pulling her with him. She straddled him and found his mouth, her hands buried in his hair. Cullen ran his hands along her legs, moving up her inner thigh before—

“Did you hear that?” 

Katria sat up on him, pushing her hair behind her ear. 

Cullen gave a frustrated huff. “Hear-,” 

She sprang off him before he could finish and hurried towards the stairs. She disappeared down them as a louder knock echoed through the room. 

Cullen frowned, propping himself on his elbows before standing and walking over to watch her at the foot of the stairs. 

Katria had her palm pressed firmly against the door because it wasn’t locked. His eyes followed the line of her body down to her bare legs, completely uncovered by her tunic. He began to breathe more deeply through his nose and made his way down the stairs to her. 

She was already talking to the person who had knocked. “Yes?” she said. 

Cullen reached her and ran both his hands down her backside and along her legs. Her neck snapped around, and she glared at him. 

“I’m here with your afternoon tea, Your Worship,” the voice replied. 

When Katria turned back to the door, Cullen nuzzled aside the hair that had been pulled loose from her braid and began kissing and nibbling on her neck. He felt her body tensing before she half-heartedly swatted him away. 

“I…don’t need my tea today, Sophie,” Katria said in an even voice. “I’m very busy and not tired at all.” 

“Of course, Your Worship.” 

“Thank you, though,” she added, as Cullen’s arms circled her waist from behind. “In fact, why don’t you and your sister take the next hour off. I saw some new blooms of Andraste’s Grace in the garden, you could go harvest them. I know they’re your favorite.” 

The voice responded immediately. “Oh, good idea! And thank you, Your Worship!”

The sound of porcelain clinking and footsteps hurrying away echoed through the hallway. Once the sounds were gone, Katria turned the lock on the door. “We’re lucky it was her,” she said. “Most people don’t knock when they come in.” 

Cullen had stopped kissing her and was resting his forehead against her shoulder. “You’re very kind,” he said, although he didn’t know why he bothered saying it because the common workers’ adoration of Katria in Skyhold was obvious, even if she wasn’t as popular with the nobles. 

She turned slightly to him and smiled. “No, I am very irresponsible. I’m letting the commander of my army ravish me in the middle of the day.” 

Cullen pressed her against the wall beside the door, pushing his knee between her legs. “I have no problem with that,” he said in between kisses. 

Katria wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He let his knee drop back down, his fingers running along her hips, one hand following the line of her leg, while the other slipped into her smalls and stroked her. She crumpled against him with a moan, her face buried in his shoulder. 

She gave a strangled sort of laugh. “As you can tell, your compliments really did a number on me—oh, _Maker_.” Katria clenched her hands tighter against his bare shoulders—she was right, she had been very wet already, and as he thought about how arousing that was, he pushed her up the wall and hoisted one of her legs around his waist with his free hand.

Cullen trailed wet kisses down her neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh, his other hand eliciting a series of small sighs from her—he suddenly wanted to take her right there against the wall. Katria seemed to notice his urgency. She dug her nails into his chest, like she was struggling against some impulse. She ground her hips against him, his fingers, creating more friction and making her gasp and moan. 

He felt her putting pressure against his shoulders, eventually pushing him hard enough away that he stopped, released her leg, giving her a confused expression, worrying he’d done something wrong. 

“I can’t be quiet, and we’re too close to the door,” she said breathlessly. “Come fuck me in the bed, please.” 

With that, she broke from his grasp and bolted up the stairs.

“Kat-,” He stopped and followed her, taking the steps two at time. Maker, she’d said _please_ again, like when they’d first kissed, and he didn’t understand how she didn’t know that he’d do almost anything to be with her. 

Katria pulled off her tunic and the rest of her smallclothes. She grabbed his upper arm as he approached her and guided him to the bed first. Cullen flopped down on his back, cupping her breasts in his hands and letting her kiss him until he could not wait another moment, so he began fumbling with his breeches. She helped him pull them off and then crawled back over him. 

Cullen wanted to say something—something to tell her he loved her more than anything, that she made him the happiest he’d ever been, no matter how little he probably deserved it. But any words were lost in his throat as she braced her hand on his chest and guided him into her with a small, breathless squeak. 

Her fingers folded into a fist on his chest as she moved against him, slowly at first, her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth pressing into her lower lip, and then she rode him more urgently, letting out a groan as she bent over him, her breasts brushing against him.

She slid her hand along the back of his head, gripping his hair, her face hovering just above the bed beside his ear. Her body tensed, and she whimpered. 

“Oh, Maker, _yes_ …”

Cullen did not last long like that. He thought about how they must look: completely naked, in the middle of the day, fucking at the end of her bed. His eyes fell to her face and he admired how beautiful she was, how utterly he’d mussed up her braid, the way her breasts reacted her to movements—in less time than he would have liked, he was completely and utterly gone. 

He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into her so hard he was afraid for a moment he would leave bruises before that thought was lost in the wave of pleasure that washed over him. Cullen began to buck underneath her, until he grabbed her hips, thrusting up completely into her, filling her with strangled moan. 

He shuddered and relaxed back against the bed, his bones feeling like they’d been liquefied. Cullen took a few deep breaths, his chest rising and falling in the silence around him. He looked at Katria, who was still on top of him, smiling slightly. 

He hastily propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m sorry if that was—if you didn’t…” 

She giggled. “Oh, I did. I fear you were a little caught up in your own satisfaction. And distracted by my breasts, I think.” 

Cullen blushed, and she bent over and kissed him. He reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb. Katria gave him a final, chaste peck on the lips before climbing off him. She immediately reached for her tunic and pulled it over her head. As she walked over to her dresser to find herself some fresh clothes, Cullen began dressing himself. 

They worked in silence, but his mind was racing, with thoughts that he feared might scare her. Cullen felt his love for Katria deeply—in his bones, in every fiber of his being. Just seeing her face lifted his spirits and made him smile like an idiot. She was _always_ on his mind. He was glad she had affirmed her desire for a future for them beyond the Inquisition, but…but he had not told her what he envisioned for that time. 

Katria called him her prince. Cullen wanted to call her his _wife_.

Before meeting her, he had given up on such things. He read Mia’s letters that told him all about his nieces and nephews and his sibling’s spouses with a smile, but with a sadness, too, because he thought he would never get to experience that. Cullen wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ that. 

Now—now against his will, without thinking, he’d see Katria with Bailey, smiling at her, stroking her blonde hair, and he’d imagine a child of theirs instead. When he played chess with Bailey, he pretended not to notice her cheating with a wry smile—and then he wondered if that was the right thing, the fatherly thing, to do.

Cullen gave a deep exhale and shook his head. The flood of feeling their recent activities had heralded made him entirely too emotional and brash. He did not want to have a wife, or bring a child into the world, when that world still needed saving. And after they saved it, he still wasn’t sure he’d be brave enough to tell her. 

Katria’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “Would you…like to sleep here tonight?” she asked him, rifling through one of her drawers. 

Cullen was standing and lacing his breeches. “Here? With you?” 

Katria shrugged. “We shared a tent, right?” 

He walked over to her. “I would…maybe…I-I mean….” 

She turned to him. “Just for one night. I know you like to stay close to the barracks, and I don’t mind that.” She smiled at him. “My bed is very comfortable. You might like it.” 

Cullen slid his hand around her waist. “I’d love to, then.” He paused and furrowed his brow. “What about Bailey? Won’t she come by in the morning?” 

Katria rubbed his arm. “She knocks now,” she said. “It _definitely_ wasn’t my idea, but her mother gave her a…talk. About adults. And how sometimes they…have adult meetings. With their nether regions.” 

Cullen gave a boyish snort, and she raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m surprised my steadfast commander is laughing at a dirty joke. But I’m glad.” 

“Glad?” 

She nodded. “I have an entire arsenal of them! Do you want to hear?”

He pulled her close and kissed her with a small smile on his lips. Listening to her voice—no matter how absurd the topic—was something that he always wanted to do.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

Katria was at her desk, a candle burning beside her that provided just enough light to see the parchment in front of her. The doors to the balcony were flung open and sent cold air into the room, rustling the other papers around her. 

“No. _Leave me_ …” Cullen thrashed to his side in her bed, moonlight hitting his face, washing the color from his pained expression. Katria clenched her quill tighter. He had told her not to wake him when he had nightmares—that it wasn’t safe. A few Templars in Kirkwall had gotten knocked in the face for trying to rouse him, apparently. Katria would have preferred to take that risk and wake him, to free him from the terror, but she also knew that if something _did_ happen, no matter how forgiving she was, Cullen would stay angry at himself for hurting her. 

This was the worst one Katria had seen, but she wondered if these nightmares happened more often than she thought previously. Cullen bolted to a sitting position with a shout, his neck snapping to the side to survey her room. Katria didn’t want to startle him. She slowly pushed herself from her chair.

“You’re safe, Cullen,” she said, as she approached the bed and sat beside him. “You’re in Skyhold. In my quarters. Katria.” 

Cullen fell back down against the bed, his chest heaving. He covered his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I know who you are,” he croaked. 

She’d talked to some older Templars about the long-term effects of lyrium use—she knew that one day that might not be true. Her hand reached out and gently touched his knee over the duvet. She hated to be touched after having a nightmare because usually her skin was still crawling. 

He laid there on his back, trying to catch his breath. He eventually gave a shuddering sigh, abruptly turning to his side away from her, hiding his face. 

She moved her hand up to his bare shoulder. “Cullen…” 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pulling the covers tighter around him.

“Do you want me to lay with you?” she asked.

He paused. “Yes, please,” he said quietly. 

Katria slid into the bed behind him, resting her head against her arm and putting her other hand on his shoulder. She pressed her lips to the back of his neck, his hair tickling her nose. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and she listened to his heavy breathing, the wind whipping into the room. Her whole body felt frigid, but Cullen was warm and flushed against her. 

She dragged her fingers from his arm to his back, trailing her fingernails in slow circles along his skin. “Do you…ever have nice dreams?” 

Katria felt his ribs expand as he inhaled, then sighed. “Rarely. I prefer not to dream at all.”

“I’ve dreamt more than ever since this all began,” she said. “More vividly, too. Dagna says it’s because of my mark, having a stronger link to the Fade.” She shrugged one shoulder. “They’re not all bad though.” 

“Really?” 

Katria shifted so she was a little closer to him, her fingers still moving along his back. It seemed to be relaxing him. “I have nice dreams. You know, frolicking through a field of flowers. Swimming in a lake that’s filled with champagne instead of water. Eating a giant sculpture of myself made entirely of cake.” 

“Those are elaborate fantasies,” he remarked. 

She moved her hand along his arm. “Oh, the really good ones have you in them.” Her head tilted forward as she whispered into his neck. “They’re utterly filthy.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Hmm?”

“My favorite is the one where you and I are in the gardens,” Katria began, running a finger along his hair line. “I’m beating you at chess, without even cheating, and you’re feeding me tiny cakes. As many as I want.” 

He gave a small laugh, the muffled sound traveling through his chest. “How depraved.” 

He shifted, reaching out for her hand and pulling it over his chest. “I imagine my coat isn’t involved in this scenario.” 

Katria was pressed completely against him now, her face buried in the crook of his neck. “Oh, yes, you see in my dream, I burn it, and dance triumphantly on the ashes.” 

Cullen lightly kissed her fingers. “That’s a sad fate for such a stately piece of clothing.” 

Katria just snorted, her breath ruffling a few strands of his hair. She tightened her grip around him, hoping it was comforting because she certainly didn’t have any words that would help. 

Cullen sighed. “Were you at your desk because I woke you? I know you are a light sleeper.” 

He _had_ done that, but she shook her head against him. “No, of course not. I just had work to do.” 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“It was just something I’d forgotten,” she assured him. “It’s not important now.” 

Cullen squeezed her hand, but she assumed he was unconvinced. She kissed him a few times on the shoulder. 

“You can talk to me…about your dreams, about anything, if you’d like. If you think it would make you feel better.” She swallowed and closed her eyes as she felt her throat tighten. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, I would do it. No matter what.”

Katria was glad when Cullen turned to face her. She soothed down his mussed hair. 

“Perhaps…later, I will tell you,” he said, then he frowned. “Right now, I don’t feel like remembering.” 

“Whatever you want,” she said. 

Cullen slung his arm around her waist. She had propped herself up higher in the sea of pillows around them, so his head was buried in her chest. 

Katria stroked his hair. “I don’t…want you to have to fight this alone, the lyrium withdrawal, anything,” she whispered. “But sometimes I don’t know what to…” 

“It’s enough that you’re here, Katria,” he said. 

“And that I…you know, love you,” she added. “Very much. Which I do.” 

“You are not getting any better at saying that, are you?” Cullen asked. She could feel him smiling slightly. 

“No, I guess not,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.” 

Cullen nodded, his hair tickling her chin and neck. She continued to lay with him and convinced him a few more hours of sleep until sunrise would do him some good. He slept for almost an hour before her eyes became heavy, and she rested her cheek on the top of his head and fell asleep. 

===

Katria visited Cullen’s office in the afternoon. He was behind his desk, though not sitting, reading a report and pacing the floor. 

“I wish you would relax,” she said in lieu of a greeting. 

He didn’t look up from the parchment. “I feel fine.” 

“You’re _pretending_ to feel fine,” Katria said, crossing the room and standing in front of his desk. “I’m going to send you some of that tea with your dinner tonight. Drink it. _And_ finish all your food.” 

“Yes, mother—I mean, Inquisitor.”

He looked up at her, smirking, and she glared at him in response. Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Either way, I’m in charge.” 

Cullen gave a short laugh and handed over the report once he finished it. “Update from the squadron I stationed at the Shrine of Dumat. The red lyrium deposits are being destroyed, and we’ve cut the red Templars down to the core.” He dropped his hand to his side and shook his head. “It’s a pity Maddox thought his sacrifice was the only answer. But that leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army, and enchanted armor he cannot maintain.” His lip flicked upwards in a small smile. “You did it.”

Katria perched herself on the edge of his desk, and he stood beside her. “ _We_ did it,” she said. “But if I’m being perfectly honest, you mostly did. You’re a brilliant commander, you should know that.”

His brow rose, and Cullen cleared his throat. “Well, I—thank you,” he stammered. “But my work’s not done yet. We’re getting recruits by the hour. There’s more than a few ex-Templars among them.” 

Cullen put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve struck a blow and given people hope. This is a true victory.”

The door in front of them flew open, and Cullen dropped his arm before Dagna came bursting into the room. 

“Inquisitor! I finished it!” she exclaimed, then stopped and looked between them both. “Are you talking? Or—other things? Because you still haven’t answered my inquiry about-,”

“Dagna,” Cullen said hastily, which made Katria cover her mouth in an attempt to suppress her laugh. She pushed herself up from the desk as Dagna thrust something towards her. 

“Here!”

Dagna had handed her some sort of flat, glowing stone. “Is this the rune you’ve been working on?” she asked.

“It’s not just _any_ rune,” Dagna replied. “I made it from red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools.” She began gesturing excitedly with her hands. “The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to-,” she stopped when Katria and Cullen both gave her blanks look “-it’ll destroy Samson’s armor,” she finished quickly. “He’ll be powerless.”

Katria flipped the rune in her hand, watching Cullen flinch and open his mouth to warn her to be careful. She spoke instead. 

“We should render our enemies powerless in a single stroke more often.” Katria looked over at Dagna. “Thank you for this. You’ve done excellent work. More than excellent.” 

“It’s been my pleasure!” Dagna said, smiling, before rushing out of the room muttering about some other experiment she was working on. 

“Keep that in a safe place,” Cullen said, eyeing the rune balanced on her palm. 

She snorted. “Now who’s being mothering—or I guess for you it would just be nagging.” 

“I am not a nag,” he said. 

She pushed the rune onto her fingertips and spun it. 

“Maker’s breath, don’t do that!” he snapped, lunging over the desk. 

Katria skipped backwards with a small laugh, but upon seeing the exacerbated expression on his face, moved forward and placed the rune gently on his desk. “Okay, okay,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “I’m sorry.” 

She tried to trap the laugh bubbling up in her throat, but it came out her nose as a snort, and he frowned. “I know I shouldn’t tease you about these things,” she said quickly. "I’m sorry.” 

Cullen’s brow was still creased. “We _need_ that rune to take down Samson.” 

Katria shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, I might be able to give him a run for his money even with that armor.” She grinned. “I’m pretty extraordinary, remember?” 

“Please be serious,” he said. 

She sighed and dropped her hands from his face. “I’m fine. The rune is fine. I’m not stupid enough to fight Samson without it. I’m just _kidding_.” 

“Well—well, you should not come to my office and _kid_ ,” he said. 

Katria rolled her eyes. “Yes, I forgot, your office is only for doing work and having sex.”

Cullen’s cheeks reddened, his eyes dropping from hers as he rubbed his neck. 

She chuckled and shook her head. “Maker, you are just the _least_ fun man in Thedas, aren’t you?” 

“That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration,” he said, looking back up. 

Katria wrapped one arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Not as much as you would think. I’ll let you get back to work. Don’t forget about what I said earlier.” 

His hand briefly brushed the small of her back, pulling her into his chest for just a moment before he released her. Katria gave him a smile—she was glad when he actually returned the gesture--and left his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow! 
> 
> In other news, passing a milestone like 10,000 hits has officially blown my mind—really, the idea just makes me flail incoherently. I am so grateful to have such awesome readers who have such high tolerance for my nonsense. 
> 
> Thank ya’ll times a million.


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this chapter is a goof. It's been simmering in my computer for a while because it could really fit-in at any point in the story, but I figured I'd put it here--as an attempt at a fun reprieve before the hike into the Arbor Wilds.

“Sera…I’m not sure this is a good idea.” 

Katria was standing with her hands on her hips, looking down at a small tub filled with ice-cold water. Her reflection stared back at her, her features rippling as the water sloshed around. 

Sera was beside her. “You have a problem,” she said. “Everyone is up their own arses about the Inquisition. No one more than your Cully-Wully.” 

“He isn’t _my_ -,” 

Sera waved her hands impatiently. “I can’t have fun with everyone whinging,” she said. “They’ll fall on their swords before Coryphenus can push them.”

“I certainly wish Corypheus’ only strategy was pushing people,” Katria muttered. 

Sera huffed. “Oh, come on, you! Don’t change the subject!” 

“Fine, okay,” Katria said, raising her hand. “I’m the Inquisitor, you know—the leader?”

“Right!” she exclaimed. “They’ll never suspect you.” 

“I don’t think this is about getting caught, Sera,” she said. “When something goes wrong or even smells remotely prank-like, everyone's looking in your direction.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But do you really think it has to be _Cullen_?” 

Sera gave a maniacal laugh. “What sorta question is that? Of _course_ it has to be! He’s so in control this’ll piss him royally.” She pointed down at the tub. “Then, he seems like people. And since he works for you, _you_ seem like people!” 

Katria hesitated. “I don’t-,” 

Sera looped her arm through Katria’s and nuzzled up to her shoulder. “You afraid General Uptight won’t pay any attention to your lady-bits if we-,” 

“Maker, fine!” she exclaimed, in some ways just to get Sera to stop talking about her ‘lady-bits.’ “Fine. We’ll do it!” 

Sera pumped her fist triumphantly. “This is gonna be grand!” 

Katria was not so sure about that, but decided to go along with the elf anyway. Sera had already done her worst wreaking havoc around Skyhold—replacing sugar with salt, putting bees in the training dummies, putting a bucket of water at the door to Josie’s office. That last prank is what gave Sera the idea she currently had for Commander Cullen. Josephine had been so riled up from the prank—she practically hissed like a wet cat—that Sera decided it would be even better to do to Cullen.

So, Sera had sent Katria a vague note about meeting her near the battlements—it was really just a series of pictures, some dragons, what Katria assumed was supposed to be the two of them, and other inappropriate things. Underneath all that nonsense was a crude sketch of Skyhold with a big ‘X’ on the top floor of the armory.

Katria had arrived to find Sera with a copper bucket filled with ice-cold water. That she announced they were going to dump on Cullen. In front of his men. While they were training. Sera grabbed one end of the bucket and gestured to her excitedly. 

“Well, come on then!” 

She raised her hands. “Wait, wait—you just want us jump out on the roof and dump this over? He’ll see us!” 

Sera dropped the handle with an impatient sigh. “That’s what your shimmer-shine is for!” 

“My what?” 

The elf mimed what she meant, pretending to dip into her pocket and throw something at the ground. Katria scrutinized her, then snapped her fingers. 

“My powders!” 

Sera rolled her eyes. “Duh! Take ‘em out, no one’ll see us!” 

Katria could hear the clang of metal clearly below them—Cullen was running a full drill that took up a majority of the courtyard. The bulk of activity was centered around the sparring ring that was directly in front of the smithy. She chewed on her bottom lip, then acquiesced. “Alright.”

Katria removed the pouch at her waist, scooped out more powder than usual, and handed it to Sera. She did the same, and they, and the tub, disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a whoosh of cold air. They picked up the bucket together and hurried across the room to the latticed window Sera had already opened. 

She peeked out the window. Cullen was standing with his lieutenants in front of the armory. From what little Katria could see of him, he was not wearing his armor. He was _very_ rarely seen without it—he had only removed it to demonstrate tactics to recruits a handful of times. Katria supposed she appreciated Sera’s probably intentional timing for their prank. Cullen could tolerate some wet clothes, but would likely be infuriated if his precious armor were threatened by rust. 

“Come on!” Sera hissed, the outline of her figure shimmering in the afternoon light pouring into the room. 

Katria groaned. “Oh, Maker’s-,” She was yanked along as Sera pulled her closer to the window. They both climbed onto the roof, taking turns balancing the bucket on the window sill. 

“Be careful,” Katria whispered. 

She just giggled in response. 

They slowly made their way across the slanted roof. Katria silently thanked Gatsi for doing such a good job reattaching the loose shingles on the armory. As they approached, the voices below them and the clashing of swords became louder. 

Katria’s heart was hammering, and she tightened her sweaty palm around the handle as Sera began to count down quietly. 

“One.” 

She slid her other palm under the bucket, the copper bitingly cold against her skin. 

“Two.” 

She scooted forward a little more, her toes precipitously close to the edge. Cullen’s rigid posture, his broad shoulders, and his golden hair were more visible now. 

“Three!” Sera bellowed, and they flipped the bucket over, sending the water crashing onto Cullen’s head. 

“ _Fuck_!”

When Katria heard Cullen’s strangled shout, she dropped the bucket and it clanked against the roof until rolling off and falling to the ground. Luckily it didn’t hit anyone. Sera let out a loud hoot and then scampered back up the roof. Katria scrambled after her, then redirected her course. Cullen would know they had been in the smithy. She glanced up—the tip of the roof was just close enough to the battlements for her to reach. 

Katria hiked up, her feet scraping against the shingles, until she was perched on the apex of the roof. She got a running start and leapt forward, her fingers just catching the edge of the battlements, her stomach smacking into the wall. She heaved herself over, and seconds later felt the effects of her powers falling away. 

She sprinted across the battlements, crouching low, until she felt she was a safe enough distance away to begin walking. However, Katria could not resist taking a path that gave her an opportunity to see Cullen. She got too close, though, because as she stood in the area just outside his office, he began to clomp up the stairs beside the tavern. 

Katria instinctively took a few steps back, but realized that would be entirely too incriminating. She covered her mouth as soon as she saw Cullen clearly. He was completely soaked. His hair was pushed onto his forehead and over his ears, rivulets of water still trickling down his face. She especially appreciated the way his tunic clung to the muscles in his shoulders. 

Cullen saw her and marched over with clenched fists. 

“Inquisitor,” he growled. 

Katria moved her hand, but kept her lips pressed tightly together. “W-What happened?” she asked, her shoulders shaking. 

“What does it _look_ like happened?” he asked with a clenched jaw. He was shivering. 

“You…forgot to take your clothes off before hopping in the tub?” she asked sheepishly. 

Cullen’s hand shot out and grasped hers. He narrowed his eyes. “Your hands are so cold, Inquisitor.” 

Katria pried herself from his grasp. “Oh, uh, yes. I was…I was playing in the snow with Bailey!” She smiled triumphantly because she thought of something so quickly. 

“I see,” he said evenly. 

Katria reached forward and patted his shoulder. “You should go change, Commander.” A giggle escaped her mouth. “Before you catch a cold.” 

“Of course,” he said. Cullen started moving past her, before his fingers found her arm again and he leaned in. 

“I’m going to do something back to you, Inquisitor,” he whispered into her ear. 

Katria straightened. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Commander,” she murmured back to him. 

Cullen released her wordlessly and disappeared into his office. To the consternation of the soldiers around her, Katria began laughing uncontrollably, bent over from the force of it, resting her palms on her knees. She eventually wiped her eyes and scurried away. 

Sera found her in the tavern later, pouncing on her with her hands on her shoulders. 

“That was fun!” she declared. “Those soldiers loved it!” 

Katria laughed and shook her head. “If you say so.”

Sera plopped down beside her at the bar. “You’re an Inquisitor of the people, still remembering you’re one of them.” She took Katria’s drink from her and drained it. “If all they got was the Herald stuff, the serious bit, you’d start to sound pretty scary. That would work, but not for long.” 

Katria gestured to Cabot, who procured another glass for her. “Whatever it takes,” she replied. “I’d start throwing pies if it kept people inspired. Although I’d prefer to eat them.” 

“Pies is so good!” Sera insisted. “And Coryphenus would never do that!”

The elf bumped shoulders with her. “Good thing for you, innit? Because from the bottom, everyone up top sort of seems the same.” 

“We’ll see if it _stays_ a good thing,” Katria said, taking a sip from her glass. “Cullen said he was going to do something back to me.” 

Sera began laughing, slapping her hand against her knee. “He said that, did he? I wouldn’t worry. General Uptight’s version of a prank will probably be tipping over an inkwell on your desk!” 

“The horror,” she said, smiling from the brim of her tumbler. 

Although Katria had a sneaking suspicion that Cullen might try to be a little more creative than that. 

=== 

Katria had all but forgotten about their prank in the ensuing week. Cullen did not mention anything about it and didn’t seem upset by what happened. She received hearty congratulations from his lieutenants, even though she vehemently denied being involved. Hearing Cullen curse and be surprised and be normal couldn’t be bad for moral since he was normally so focused on his work and being professional.

Cullen sent a messenger to fetch her after their War Room meeting one morning. He wanted to show her their progress on preparations for the Arbor Wilds—inspecting trebuchets, caravans, that sort of thing. The bulk of the army was situated outside Skyhold in tents along the north ridge of the area. Trade roads led in two directions from the mountains, east into Ferelden and west into Orlais. Along the north side of the castle, there was a vast expanse of snow and a frozen lake, which provided a great source of water. 

Katria ventured out of Skyhold to that area—it probably took longer than Cullen would have liked because she stopped to talk to various groups of soldiers. She finally found him by the trebuchets. 

“Commander,” she said. 

He turned and cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming, Inquisitor.” He gestured behind him. “I thought Knight-Captain Rylen might accompany you on this inspection, as something has come up that I need to attend to.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Well, sure. Is everything alright?” 

“Is everything…” Cullen rubbed his neck. “Yes! I mean, of course.” 

Katria narrowed her eyes slightly, but then shrugged. “Okay.” She turned to Rylen and smiled. “Lead the way, Knight-Captain.” 

Cullen scurried away from them. Katria and Rylen spoke for a few minutes—about his wife, his work in the Western Approach, his happiness to be back in Skyhold for the time being. 

Rylen was letting a small smile inch over his face. “Inquisitor, I have a question.” 

“What’s on your mind?” she asked. 

“Can you swim?” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Can I-,” 

“Inquisitor.” 

She turned to the voice she heard directly behind her, but the next thing she felt was something pressing against her stomach. She was bodily picked up by her waist and slung over someone’s shoulder. Katria started to squirm and kick her legs. Her fingers slid down the back of the metal breastplate of—

“ _Cullen_?” Katria sputtered, trying to crane her neck to look at him. The way she was hanging made her only able to see the back of his head. 

“Put me down!” she ordered. “What are you doing?” 

Cullen did not reply to her, and instead kept walking at a fast clip ahead. Towards the lake. 

Katria squealed. “No! Cullen!” She began to laugh, despite herself, and hit her fists against his armor. She could not see in front of him, but he stopped, so she assumed they’d reached their destination. His hands moved to her waist. 

“Cullen!” 

He lifted her from his shoulder and tossed her into the lake. 

The sensation of the cold water prickling her skin sucked the breath out of her. She surfaced almost immediately, her hair clinging to her face. She sputtered and spit, treading water with her arms. 

Cullen was standing at the edge of the lake with a smile on his face. 

“You prick!” she exclaimed, and he laughed, before turning on his heel and walking back to the camp. 

“Cullen!” she called after him, kicking her legs to the edge of the lake. She sloughed out, sending water dripping to the ground. Two soldiers were standing beside her. One put a thick blanket over her shoulders. The other held out a set of dry clothes. 

“Something to change into, Inquisitor.” 

“Wha…” Katria trailed off, but accepted the clothes in one hand, tightening her grip on the blanket with the other. 

“Commander Cullen worried you might get cold,” the soldier explained. 

Katria grinned. “He should be worrying that I’m going to punch his lights out,” she said. The soldiers gave muffled laughs, then led her to a tent where she could change. 

Cullen’s plan certainly had every trademark of his personality: blunt, no-nonsense, and somehow also sweet because he planned far enough in advance to keep her from staying cold. Although she didn’t really think dunking someone in a freezing lake counted as a prank. 

She did not see Cullen again until the evening—late in the evening, well after midnight when she was sliding into bed, her exhaustion so deep it felt as if it had settled in her bones. Just as her head hit her pillow, the door opened. 

Katria knew it was Cullen; no one else was brave enough to come to her room this late at night, and his gait on the stairs was unmistakable. She turned away from him. 

“I’m _still_ cold,” she announced. 

Cullen gave a deep laugh. “You should have thought of that before you joined forces with Sera.” 

She couldn’t help but smile. “You just threw me in a lake, Cullen. It wasn’t a _prank_.” 

“But it was very funny,” he said. She could hear him peeling off the layers of his armor. 

“It was very _cold_ ,” Katria muttered, pulling the blankets tighter around her. She felt the mattress dip down as Cullen laid beside her. He wrapped his strong arm around her and pulled her close. The feeling of his warm chest against her back made her sigh contently. 

“What are you doing here?” Katria asked. 

“I felt…a little bad about throwing the Herald of Andraste into a lake,” he said, peering over at her with his head nestled in her neck. “I thought I would…I mean…” 

She giggled and rubbed his arm. “You shouldn’t feel bad. Think about how overwhelmingly normal it probably made me look. But _most_ importantly, it proved that Commander Cullen actually knows how to have fun.” She buried herself deeper into the covers. “But perhaps next time we have fun, we can try something a little less cold. Or, was today a once-a-year sort of thing?” 

Cullen kissed the back of her head. "Once we defeat Corypheus, I will have as much fun as you'd like." 

Katria squeezed his arm and smiled. "You're going to regret saying that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, what a goof. If it's thumbs down enough, I might rewrite it and just do the canon pranks with Sera.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

Katria met in the War Room with her advisors to finalize their plans for marching to the Arbor Wilds. She was nervous about the whole affair, of course, but was in some ways giddy with pride over the progress her soldiers had made, and what an incredible force the Inquisition had become. 

“With Orlais’ support, our numbers match Corypheus’,” Cullen told her, smiling slightly. “His followers must be panicking.”

“My agents agree,” Leliana added from beside him. “Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

“That’s good news,” Katria said, her palms flat against the table. “Perhaps they’ll rethink following the darkspawn magister from the dawn of time. Now, all that remains is actually stopping him.”

“What exactly happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asked Morrigan, who was next to Katria. 

The condescending expression on Morrigan’s face didn’t change—Katria was convinced her haughty look was a permanent fixture. “Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a god,” she replied, then shook her head. “Or—and this is more likely—the lunatic will unleash forces that will tear the world apart.” 

“Well, I’m going to have to say ‘fuck no’ to both those options,” Katria said. 

Josephine seemed to shiver at her crassness, but she was definitely getting more used to it. “Pardon me,” she said, smiling politely. “But does this mean everything’s lost unless we get to the Eluvian before him?”

“Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves,” Cullen said, his hands moving to his sword. 

“We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds,” Leliana suggested. 

“Without support from the soldiers?” he began incredulously. “You’d lose half of them!”

“Then what _should_ we do?” Leliana asked back impatiently. 

“For starters, we don’t let Corypheus worry us to death,” Katria interjected, raising her head to look at them and grin. “Imagine how embarrassing that would be.” 

She gazed back down at the map, the little markers so carefully placed across Ferelden and Orlais. Knowing all this power was under her command still managed to be intimidating on occasion, but there was not time to dwell on that now. She eventually straightened and spoke. 

“Josie, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Arbor Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’ army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.” 

Morrigan scoffed. “Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.” 

“We’d be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan,” Josephine said. “Please, lend us your expertise.” 

“‘Tis why I came here, although it is good to see its value recognized,” she replied. 

Cullen looked as tired of the politeness as Katria felt. “Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” he asked. 

Katria dropped her gaze back to the table, running her finger along the dagger marks she’d made in all the hours they’d spent here. Was this really it? The moment they won? Or failed and died? Either way, _words_ were necessary, as much as the ones filled with genuine feeling eluded her. 

“The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god. I could ask for no finer council, no better guidance.” 

Cullen gave her his heart-breaking smile, his warm brown eyes meeting hers, and she tried not to blush furiously. “I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause,” he said. 

“Are you sure about that?” Katria asked, grinning, “Because-”

Josephine cleared her throat delicately. 

“Right,” Katria said. “Sorry. Serious moment.” She set her brows low over her eyes and frowned in an exaggerated expression of severity. 

“Let’s go kick this darkspawn magister’s ass.” 

Josephine did not seem to think that was an improvement. 

===

There were a lot of people praying in the Arbor Wilds. A lot of people reciting the Chant, asking for Katria’s blessing, talking about the Maker’s plan for her—she was already unsettled enough leading the troops into battle, and the worship certainly didn’t help her keep her focus. 

One of Cullen’s captains approached her at camp as soon as Katria was done being forced by Josephine to talk to Empress Celene. Not that Katria didn’t appreciate Celene’s help, but the grandstanding and posturing about the glory of this event seemed more appropriate for the _end_ of the battle as opposed to the middle of it. Cullen’s soldiers had been engaged in combat for over two days. She had not seen her Commander at all since then, and she worried. 

“Inquisitor,” the soldier said, bowing slightly. 

“How goes the battle, Captain?” she asked. 

“We’re holding, barely,” she replied. “The red Templars are fighting harder than ever with their master nearby.”

Katria grimaced. “Has there been any sign of Corypheus?” 

The soldier nodded. “Our scouts saw him traveling toward an elven ruin to the north,” she said. “We can clear you a path through his armies.” 

“Do only what you must,” Katria ordered, then briefly squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you and be safe.” 

“We will not fail you, Your Worship,” she said, saluting Katria. “No matter what comes.”

The soldier bowed to her a final time. “Andraste guide you, Inquisitor.”

Katria turned away from her and was suddenly face to face with Morrigan—who apparently did not get the memo that they were going into _battle_ because she was still wearing the outfit she trounced around in at Skyhold. 

“I wonder,” Morrigan remarked, as she walked closer. “Is it Andraste your soldiers invoke during battle or does a more immediate name come to their lips?”

Katria frowned. “Another way to let people down if I falter. Thank you for the reminder,” she muttered. “But if you were wondering, the only phrase I invoke during battle is _well, shit_.”

Morrigan was not amused by her answer. “If your scouts report accurately, I believe these ruins to be the Temple of Mythal.” 

Katria assumed if she had paid closer attention to Solas’ frequent lectures, she would remember more precisely who Mythal was. “Which is?” 

“A place of worship out of elven legend,” Morrigan explained. “If Corypheus seeks it, then the Eluvian he covets lies within.”

A series of resounding booms rang out a few miles behind them, and Katria turned in time to see a column of black smoke rise past the tree line. She clenched her fists and tried to regulate her breathing. 

“Let us hope we reach this temple _before_ the entire forest is reduced to ash,” Morrigan remarked sourly. 

“The safety of my soldiers is a more pressing concern,” Katria said. “We should get moving.” 

Katria gathered the rest of her party and set off into the forest. The scenery was magnificent—there was a stunning variety of plants and wildlife, soiled by the clashing of swords, the bodies of the deceased, and the mangled remains of red Templars. They fought hard through the blockades set up by Inquisition soldiers. 

And as if the red Templars weren’t enough of a problem, weird, mystical _elves_ began to attack them. Even Morrigan had little insight into what their motivation for attacking the Inquisition would be, other than that these elves might simply protect the forest. 

They reached the final blockade that was located in a clearing just outside the temple. Massive trees surrounded them, and the forest floor was lush, vines and grass even growing around the ruins scattered throughout the area. Inquisition archers were posted on the wall at the north end of the blockade, shooting down at the red Templars. Katria sent Varric up to join them, then she and Cassandra worked together to take down a red Templar lieutenant. As it swung its massive fists towards the Seeker, Katria sprang up behind him and buried her daggers in the weak points of its armor. Cassandra struck a fatal blow as it reared up, and the monster collapsed with a strangled cry. 

Katria made quick work of another Templar, throwing three daggers in quick succession that sent him plunging to the ground. She surveyed the area and saw no other living enemies. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Katria turned and tried not to collapse with relief upon seeing Cullen—they had hardly crossed paths at all during the battle. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him. 

Cullen nodded; his face was slicked with sweat, blood splattered across his armor, but he looked unharmed. “The temple is ahead—Leliana’s scouts reported that they saw Corypheus enter just before we arrived. You must hurry.” 

Katria looked around at the men with him. There were one or two squadrons at best. “Once the red Templars hear I’ve entered the ruins, more of them will come. You don’t have enough men here.”

“Inquisitor, you need to press on,” Cullen said firmly, his mouth set in a hard line.

She sheathed her daggers at her back. “I will leave some of my party with-,”

“You will not.” 

Katria made a frustrated noise, exhaling through her nose, pursing her lips, tasting the sweat and dirt that had accumulated there. Was it so wrong to be worried about them? 

Cullen briefly took her hand and squeezed it hard. “I will see you soon. Go.” 

She nodded once to him, then turned and jogged up the dilapidated steps of the temple. The rest of her team trailed behind her. She dragged her sleeve across her face and took a deep breath—she had not seen Corypheus since Haven, and that had not gone well for her. 

Katria hoped things fared a little better this time. 

===

When Katria fell through the Eluvian, she tripped and crashed onto the stone floor. 

“Oh, fuck!” She rolled onto her back, her hand wrapped around her shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” An unimaginably sharp pain was growing there. Samson’s sword had sliced her, causing her to lose enough blood that she felt woozy. They had exhausted their supply of healing potions confronting Samson and his Templars, so Katria could only put pressure on it while the business with the Well of Sorrows was sorted out. 

Katria felt a pair of hands pulling her up, and she staggered sideways. “I’m fine,” she panted. “I’m…” 

Her eyes rose from the floor, taking in the familiar sights of Skyhold’s garden. _Skyhold._ They had spent weeks traveling to the Arbor Wilds and now they were back, in a matter of seconds. 

“You need to go to a healer,” Cassandra told her. 

Katria inhaled deeply. “We all need to.” The rune that disabled Samson’s armor did _not_ incapacitate him like she hoped. The fucker still put up an incredible fight. Part of Katria wished they would have killed him instead of leaving him on the verge of consciousness in the temple. 

“I need to go get a drink,” Dorian said, leaning on his staff. He threw a wary look over at Morrigan—probably because she was the one who drank from the Well of Sorrows. Katria clenched her jaw and mimicked Dorian’s expression. She had been _furious_ when Morrigan deserted them to chase Abelas in hopes of protecting the well.

Katria almost drank from it just to spite her after that—giving it to Morrigan felt like some kind of reward for her selfish behavior. But Katria, nor Dorian or Cassandra, thought it was a good idea for Katria herself to drink from it. She just hoped her decision didn’t backfire because her trust in Morrigan was nowhere near complete. 

Katria limped out of the room that housed the Eluvian. She started on the path that bisected the garden. Bailey was alone at the chessboard, moving pieces around with a practiced level of concentration. The little girl looked up, and they locked gazes. 

Bailey’s brows shot together, and then she screamed. 

“Well, quite the welcome back to Skyhold,” Dorian muttered. 

Katria took two steps forward, holding up her hand. “Bailey! Bailey, it’s me. I swear.” 

“You’re supposed to be in the Arbor Wilds!” she sputtered, jumping from her chair. 

“We…We went through a mirror, and we’re back now,” Katria said. 

Bailey furrowed her brow. “ _What_?” 

Cassandra got a firm hold on her arm. “Healer. Now.” 

Katria was dragged through the garden to Marianne’s clinic—of course, Marianne wasn’t there because she, like everyone else, was in the Arbor Wilds. Only one healer remained in Skyhold, and he was positively aghast at their appearance there, and even more nervous to treat the Inquisitor. Bailey trailed behind them, her fox in tow, peppering them with questions Cassandra quickly got impatient with. 

Once her shoulder was bandaged, Katria tried to raise herself from her cot, only to be pushed back down on it multiple times. 

“We need to write to everyone!” Katria insisted. “And tell them about…whatever the fuck just happened.” She buried her face in her hands. “Maker, what in the Void even did happen? It went…” The amount of blood she’d lost made everything seem like a blur. 

“We stopped Corypheus from gaining entrance to the Fade,” Cassandra said from beside her bedroll. “That is what’s important.” 

“Except that we also found out that Corypheus _can't be killed_ ,” Katria said, flattening her hand against her forehead. “Slice open his throat in one body, and he just _moves_ to another.” She groaned. “I can’t beat that!” 

“You have done so thus far,” Cassandra said. “And we will continue to. There must be a way.” 

“And what about our troops?” Katria asked exasperatedly. “The battle? Is everyone alright?” 

“I will get some parchment for you. Write your advisors. I will send the other necessary correspondence.” Cassandra stood to retrieve their supplies, but turned and pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t you move, Inquisitor. You need to rest.”

The Seeker headed for the door, and Katria called out after her. 

“If you could bring some expensive alcohol with that parchment, I’d be much obliged!” 

Katria flopped back against her bedroll, wincing from the pressure it put on her shoulder. For once, returning to Skyhold was not putting her in a good mood. Almost her entire army, all her advisors, and most of her party members remained in the Arbor Wilds, having no clue about her whereabouts because all they left behind in the temple was a bunch of shattered glass. 

When Cassandra returned, unrepentant with only parchment, Katria immediately scrawled out a letter for them. 

===

_Team,_

_I am safe and unharmed. And also back at Skyhold. Yes, Skyhold. We used the Eluvian in the Temple of Mythal to travel back here. The mirror in the temple was destroyed, as you probably well know, so we have foiled Corypheus’ plans once again. I left General Samson as a present for you all. You’re welcome._

_Please send word back as soon as possible—about how the battle fared, the condition of our army, my remaining party’s health. Sitting in Skyhold waiting for your return will likely drive me mad. We have…many things to discuss._

_Katria_

=== 

Katria’s exhaustion dragged her into a fitful slumber within the hour, and she slept until a raven arrived with a message from Leliana the next morning. 

===

_Inquisitor,_

_I’m pleased to report we won the battle. After you entered the temple, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field. We’re not sure why. With Solas’ help, Cullen’s soldiers managed to enter the ruins and begin the search for you. They captured Samson with ease, given that he was still unconscious from your apparent fight. We were very worried that something had happened to you when you could not be found. We were relieved to receive your letter._

_It will take some time for the army to return from the Wilds, but Lady Montilyet and I are departing post-haste with our fastest horses. We will discuss what you saw in private and plan our next moves._

_Katria, I…don’t know any other way to say this, but you deserve the truth. Cullen was injured while you were in the temple. Gravely. Marianne is tending to him, but he has not awoken. I will be honest with you: she has been uncharacteristically silent about his condition. It does not bode well._

_I have ordered Marianne to send you as much correspondence as possible on how he is faring. I will see you soon. Everything will be okay._

_Nightingale_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up by the weekend!


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is, I'm posting this chapter sooner than I expected!

_Marianne,_

_Please write me. Maker, please tell me he’s okay. I’ve been sitting in this stupid, damp, frigid tower for hours, waiting for your letter. They won’t let me go back to the Arbor Wilds—I tried to get on a horse and ride to you and Cassandra told me no and I yelled at her and she still said no._

_I can’t—you have to save him, Marianne. You have to._

_ Please. _

_Katria_

=== 

Katria felt like she was submerged in water, trapped under a thick sheet of ice. The world around her was muted. Underneath her calm façade, her weak smile, she was thrashing and screaming and unable to breathe, her fists pounding against the thick walls that kept her from showing how utterly distraught she felt. 

It was all her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her _fucking_ fault.

She hadn’t followed Samson through the Temple of Mythal—Cassandra had told her that every moment they tarried their soldiers were at risk, and one of those soldiers was Cullen. But she wanted to do the rituals, to understand, to avoid needlessly slaughtering more people. Her decision ended up hurting the person who mattered most to her. 

The morning Katria received Leliana’s letter, after being pinned down by Cassandra and told her departure was unacceptable, she sat herself in the tower. Her eyes scanned the letter about a hundred times—her disbelief melting away a little each time and being replaced with despair. 

And then that despair was entirely too much to handle. She couldn’t—couldn’t possibly do this without Cullen. Couldn’t live with the fact that she _left_ him to die. She sought distraction in a frenzy. She threw her daggers and sparred until she couldn’t lift her arms. Then she retreated to the garden, turning over half the flower-beds and replanting them. More elfroot. So more people could heal. So Cullen could.

Maker, it was all her fault. 

Katria felt her throat constrict, and she clenched her jaw so hard she felt her teeth might crack. Her fingers sunk into the dirt as she leaned forward over her knees. A choked sob fell from her mouth. She raised her arm to her face, trying to hide the tears now trickling down her cheeks. 

“That’s a most unusual way to water your herbs,” a voice from behind her remarked. 

Katria inhaled sharply and wiped her face. “I’m not—I wasn’t…” She began pulling weeds again. “I’m fine.” 

Dorian grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “It’s alright to worry about the health of the man you love.” 

She swallowed thickly, her eyes brimmed with tears. “I _worried_ about his health because of his lyrium withdrawal, but now he’s _dying_ , Dorian. I’m terrified and angry and…” Katria broke from his gasp, a hollow, humorless laugh escaping her as she threw her hands up. “And right. So fucking right.” 

“Right about what?” he asked. 

Katria grasped at her hair, streaking dirt in it. “Everything I love gets taken from me. That’s why I didn’t want Cullen—any of you! Because you fall in love, and you think about your future, and there’s no fucking point!” She began pacing. “Maker, what was I thinking? What kind of idiot makes these attachments when my job is to throw myself into danger every second?” 

“You need to calm down,” Dorian told her. “How about a drink?” 

“I am calm!” she snapped angrily. 

“Clearly.” 

“I…” Her words devolved into a frustrated grunt, and she turned to the flower bed. 

“He’s going to be alright,” Dorian said, shifting on his feet. 

“You don’t _know_ that,” she said. 

“I’m being comforting, my dear.” 

Katria grit her teeth. “Well, it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Nothing is fair.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “You’re just learning this now?” 

She craned her neck around and narrowed her eyes. “I really want to hit you directly in the face.” 

He put his hand on his hip. “How about a drink instead?” 

Katria looked down at her hands that were coated in dirt. She wiped them along her pants, leaving long streaks there, and stood. “Fine.”

They ventured down into Skyhold’s wine cellar and shared the single most expensive bottle of liquor the Inquisition owned. Katria drank it spitefully—a big _fuck you_ to her stupid job; the job that had consumed her life, that she worked so hard for. And even though she followed the rules, even though she kept doing good things, the Maker continued to spit on her. Go into the Fade, be tortured, lose the man you love.

Dorian sat with her in the dark cellar against the wall. They drank in silence for a long time, which was rare for him. 

“Dorian,” she whispered hoarsely. “What if…he dies? What if he dies, and I’m still alive and he’s not and…” Katria put her palms against her eyes. “Do you know how little I told him I loved him?” 

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, my dear,” he said. “Cullen is entirely too stubborn and entirely too enamored with you to die.” 

“That’s _not_ how it works,” Katria muttered. “People who are very much in love die all the time, and it just sucks more that way.” She rested her forehead against her hand. “The worst part is waiting. Not being able to _do_ anything.”

“You can do something,” Dorian insisted. “You can keep fighting.” 

She sighed. “I’m trying, but…but after what happened at the temple…” 

Silence hung between them for a few minutes. “What we saw, what Abelas told us, it’s got me thinking,” Dorian eventually said. She was glad he was changing the subject. 

“That’s a first.” 

He snorted. “I would be offended if I did not know for a fact that I am the more intellectual of the two of us.” He leaned back so his head was pressed against the wall. “I should go back, shouldn’t I? To Tevinter. Once this is done, if we’re still alive.”

“You don’t think we’ll live through this?” she asked. 

Dorian shrugged. “I’d say our odds are about three to one.” 

“That…seems pretty generous, actually,” Katria muttered.

He looked over at her. “My point is, for all my talk about how terribly wrong things are back home, I do nothing about it.” 

She met his gaze and furrowed her brow. “How does this relate to the elven temple?"

“That elf, Abelas. He said the Imperium wasn’t what destroyed the elves. My people would never accept that. It would reduce us to scavengers, destroy our legacy no matter how terrible,” Dorian said, then shook his head. “But we _should_ accept it, take our history down a peg, confront the legacy hanging over us like a shroud. Maybe not all of us want to, but that could be altered. If you can change minds, so can I.” 

“You’re not doing nothing, Dorian,” she said. “You came here. You’re fighting with us. With me.” 

“I want to do more than stop Corypheus. I want to save my home.” He smiled slightly. “It might surprise you to know that you’re the one who inspired me.” 

“Surprised?” she began. “No. I’m astounded. And I’m also now convinced you’ve been possessed by…I don’t know, a humility demon?” 

“Only in my worst nightmares,” Dorian replied. “Although those don’t actually exist in the Fade.” 

Katria snorted. “Thanks for the lecture, Solas.” 

He patted her knee. “Deflect all you want, my dear. You’re shaping the world—for good or ill. How could I aspire to do any less?”

“True,” she said. “If I can do it, anyone can.” 

“You as usual give yourself too little credit,” Dorian said. 

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Even _if_ only a few people could shape the world, you’re one of them. You pompous, well-dressed…friend. Of mine. Who I care very much for.”

Dorian gasped in mock surprise. “I’m sorry—are you expressing sentiment right now, Inquisitor?”

“I am weak,” she said. “I fell in love, and now I practically piss feelings.” 

“Lovely image.”

“Well, you asked,” Katria replied, then paused and looked down at her lap. “You know I’d support you Dorian. Anywhere.” 

"Thank you," he said. “I would do anything to prove that Tevinter could be better, that there’s hope even for my homeland." 

“Maybe I’ll come with you,” Katria said, shrugging. “There won’t be anything for me here if Cullen…” She trailed off and sniffled. 

Dorian reached over and took her hand in both of his. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll remain here in Skyhold. Probably marry Cullen and have disgustingly adorable children. Continue to change the world. Have a wonderful, long life and a beautiful family, and I’ll just want to vomit from the sentiment every time I visit.” 

Katria hastily wiped away the tear that was making its way down her face. “I would like that,” she said softly. 

He squeezed her hand. “So say it to your handsome prince once he arrives home.”

“If he comes home,” Katria murmured. 

“ _When_ he does,” Dorian said back. 

She desperately wished she believed him.

===

No letter from Marianne arrived that day. Katria was distraught, obviously. She didn’t sleep at all—her bed was a refuge for good memories that were now bad ones because they might be all she had left of him. 

The next day, Katria was sitting in a bench in the gardens, idle, hating it, but she had already torn through all the work she could possibly do in the near-empty castle. She heard footsteps clicking against the stones near her. 

“Inquisitor, might I interrupt your moping?” 

Katria glared up at Morrigan. “I’m brooding, thank you very much. And I’m not in the best of moods, so if you could kindly check your inexplicably condescending attitude at the door, I would greatly appreciate it.” 

“I am here to talk about Corypheus,” she said. 

“I dispatched some of Leliana’s agents to track his movements, but I’ve heard nothing from them,” Katria said. “If he’s smart, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again.”

“He will not hide,” Morrigan said. 

Katria stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “You think he’ll attack us here, at Skyhold?”

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “But neither will he remain idle.” 

Katria scrutinized her, her chin tilted down because she was a few inches taller than Morrigan. “And how do you know this?”

“The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me across the ages,” she replied. 

“Congratulations.” 

Morrigan frowned. “Do not discount them, Inquisitor. They hold wisdom, secrets I never dreamed possible. But even they fear what Corypheus has become.” 

“What he’s become?” she began. “He’s not a god yet, is he?”

“Not yet,” Morrigan said. “He is both powerful and immortal, but he has a weakness.” 

“Let’s skip the dramatic pause and get to the part where you tell me what his weakness actually is,” she said quickly. 

“The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon,” Morrigan explained. “It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride to emulate the gods of old. That pride can be exploited.” 

“How?” Katria asked. 

“Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted,” she said. “He can be slain.” 

Katria threw her hands up. “ _Just_ kill his massive, terrifying, red lyrium dragon?” she asked exasperatedly. “Gee, why didn’t we think of that before? Oh, right, because it’s really fucking hard to kill dragons.” 

“There is a way to defeat the dragon, to match Corypheus in his power,” Morrigan insisted. “The Well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor.” 

“Leliana and Josephine will be here in two days time. I will discuss the situation with them,” Katria said. 

Morrigan stepped back. “Very well, Inquisitor.” She sauntered away, and Katria collapsed back against the bench. She desperately wanted to discuss this situation with _all_ her advisors. But one of them might never come home. 

A hastily-written message from Marianne arrived at the end of the day. 

===

_Inquisitor,_

_I am doing everything I can._

_Sister Leliana asked me to be honest with you. The blade went deep. Massive blood loss. He remains unconscious with a high fever. I cannot say for sure if he will live, but he is fighting._

_I will update you as soon as anything changes, I promise._

_Marianne_


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

_Marianne,_

_Thank you—the Inquisition is lucky to have you. I am lucky to have you._

_~~If~~ When Cullen wakes up, please send word. Tell him something nice. Or romantic. From me. I don’t know what. I haven’t thought straight for days. But something._

_Katria_

===

Leliana and Josephine arrived back to Skyhold at dawn, two days after Katria received word from Marianne. Katria waited in the War Room for them, pacing and wringing her fingers. 

The two women burst into the room. 

“Inquisitor!” Josephine began, hurrying towards her. “Oh, Inquisitor, we are _so_ glad you are alright. Have you heard any news of Commander Cullen?” 

Katria swallowed and gave a nod. “Yes, but—he’s…it’s…” She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out Marianne’s letter. She’d had it with her since she received it. “Here.” 

Josephine scanned the message while Leliana peered over her shoulder. 

“Oh,” Josephine eventually said, her lips turned downward just slightly. “I was…hoping he would be awake.” Her eyes rose to meet Katria’s and she sighed. “Inquisitor, I know you must be…” 

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” Katria turned back to the table behind them, determined to keep her mind on business. “I have written full reports for both of you about what happened at the temple, as well as mine and Morrigan’s thoughts on Corypheus’ next moves.”

They both circled the table to stand in their customary spots. Katria tried hard to ignore the spasm in her chest that happened when she noticed just how large the space between her two advisors was because Cullen was not with them.

“Solas spent hours scouring the temple after you disappeared through the Eluvian,” Leliana remarked as she accepted the report. “He made many observations, but most importantly he mentioned something about a Well of Sorrows, which, according to him, was located in the same area where we found Samson.” 

“Yes,” Katria said. “Corypheus wanted Samson to drink from the well and be his vessel. The well was the key to accessing the Eluvian.” 

Josephine and Leliana exchanged looks. 

“Did you…drink from it?” Leliana asked. 

Katria shook her head, and both women visibly relaxed. “No. We were told that whomever drank from the well would be bound to the will of Mythal—not that I really believe that, but Morrigan was more than willing to do it, and it seemed like too much of a risk for me to take in my current position as Inquisitor.” She sighed impatiently. “Yet, letting Morrigan drink wasn’t the optimal solution, either. She is hard to trust.” 

“Morrigan is a valuable ally,” Josephine said. “We should just never forget that she is here because she wants something.” 

“If it’s any consolation, she has changed since I first met her,” Leliana said, looking up. “She used to be so…disagreeable. Cruel. She said things just to hurt people. Now, the sharp edges have worn away. Perhaps it was Kieran.” 

Katria rested her palms against the table. “Changed or not, I’m afraid we have little choice about trusting her. She has an idea about how to match Corypheus’ power. I will meet with her today. I have just been…” She sighed and covered her eyes.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said gently. “Perhaps I could-,” 

She raised her hand to stop her. “Thank you, Josie, but I don’t want to—everything is...” She massaged her forehead. “Maker’s balls. Cullen comes to mind and it’s like my jaw unhinges itself.”

“You’re concerned,” Josephine said. “We all are.” 

Katria gave a quiet sigh, then gestured to the markers on the map to avert their attention to a conversation that didn’t render her into a stammering puddle. They discussed a myriad of issues for a few hours, but business proved to be a poor distraction. Once they were finished, and Katria fended off Josephine’s further attempts to assuage her worry, she returned to her quarters. She was exhausted, but still found herself unable to crawl into her bed. 

She drafted a few letters to some probably-snotty nobles before deciding to retreat back to the garden. As soon as she opened the door from the Great Hall, she heard a voice call out to her. 

“Inquisitor.” 

Leliana was on the other side of the garden—she made no wild gestures, but Katria heard a hint of urgency in her normally calm tone. Katria hurried over and watched Leliana disappear into the room that housed Morrigan’s Eluvian. 

When Katria stepped inside, the eerie purple and blue light from the mirror was flexing and shimmering on its smooth surface. She furrowed her brows. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Morrigan chased after her son into the Eluvian,” Leliana said, lips pursed with worry. “She was terrified.”

“Why was Kieran running in _there_?” she asked exasperatedly. 

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’ve never seen Morrigan like that.” Leliana turned to her and grabbed her shoulder. “You must go after her. I will find help, Inquisitor.”

Leliana was right—Morrigan could not escape, not when she claimed she knew how to help them defeat Corypheus. Katria nodded once. “Alright.” 

Leliana hurried away. Katria stood in front of the mirror, hesitating for a moment, before jumping forward with a determined expression. 

Her feet skidded against hard rock, not the smooth tiles she’d encountered previously in the Crossroads. A sharp, putrid smell filled her nose, triggering a flood of memories that told her where she was before she even opened her eyes. 

The Fade. 

Katria staggered sideways, taking in the dulled green tones around her from an odd angle. It looked the same—of course it was the same. She just didn’t understand what the fuck she was doing here again. 

She buried her face in her hands, leaning her shaking body against the intricate gold rim of the Eluvian. Her breath came in short gasps—Maker, of all the places in the world…

Katria tried to remember why she’d gone through the mirror: to find Morrigan. They needed her. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her shirt over her heart. She took a few steps forward. 

“Morrigan!” she called. Her voice echoed through the high, glistening cliffs around her. 

Katria pushed herself further away from the mirror and shouted her name again. 

A voice answered her. “Go back! I must find Kieran before it’s too late!”

Katria lifted her head and saw Morrigan’s silhouette at the bottom of a hill. She groaned and hurried down to her. 

“What is going on?” she demanded. 

Morrigan looked very distraught—there was sweat on her brow, and she was fidgeting incessantly. Her hand moved to her forehead. “I don’t know. Why would Kieran do this? _How_ could he do this?” Her eyes searched the area. “We stand in the Fade. To direct the Eluvian here would require immense power…” 

“We can’t worry about that now,” Katria said. “Let’s just find Kieran and get out of here.”

She nodded numbly and frowned. “If he is lost to me now, after all I have sacrificed…”

“We’ll find him,” Katria assured her, surprised by her vulnerability. 

They hurried through the narrow paths in front of them. Katria tried to block out the familiarity of the place. The Nightmare demon was dead— _she’d_ killed it, and it could no longer terrorize her. But, Maker’s balls, this was not something she needed to experience. She had a difficult enough time keeping Cullen from her thoughts, now creating a diversion from being in the Fade made her mind feel like an empty tin. 

“There he is!” 

Morrigan’s shrill exclamation made her lift her head. They had reached the crest of the path and saw Kieran below them, barely visible in the green light. There was a larger figure beside him. Katria followed Morrigan as she hurried towards him. 

“Who’s with him?” she asked. 

Morrigan jogged to a stop, her eyes widening. “That’s…”

Kieran turned and smiled at her. “Mother!” 

Morrigan pursed her lips, still gazing with malevolence at the older woman beside Kieran. “Mother.” 

The woman smirked. “Now, isn’t this a surprise…” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Wait—this is your _actual_ mother?”

“Her name is Flemeth,” Morrigan ground out, her jaw clenched. 

Katria shook her head. “You know, I can’t say the Fade would be my first choice for a family reunion.”

“Mother, daughter, grandson,” Flemeth said. “It rather warms the heart, does it not?” 

“Kieran is not your grandson,” Morrigan snapped. “Let him go!”

The woman snorted. “As if I were holding the boy hostage.” She looked at Katria with a sigh. “She’s always been ungrateful, you see.” 

“Ungrateful?” Morrigan began angrily, her fists clenched. “I know how you plan to extend your life, you wicked crone! You will not have me, and you will not have my son!”

Morrigan lifted her arms, green light swirling around them, before her mother gave her a disappointed look and with the flick of her hand, made the magic disappear. 

“That’s quite enough,” she said mildly. “You’ll endanger the boy.”

“What have you done to me?” Morrigan demanded. 

“I have done nothing,” Flemeth replied with a shrug. “You drank of the well from your own volition.”

Katria was wondering what in the Void this woman had to do with the Well of Sorrows, when Morrigan’s angry expression faded to a look of shock. 

“You…are Mythal.”

Katria made a noise that was something between a laugh and a snort. “What? No. I mean…come on, she can’t be Mythal. That’s impossible.”

Flemeth scrutinized her with an amused expression. “Explain to me, dear girl, why I can’t be what I am.”

Katria threw up her hand. “First off, even if we concede that Mythal is somehow real, she was an elven god. And you’re decidedly not that. You’re…”

“Human?” Flemeth finished with a raised eyebrow. “Not a word many have used for me in a long time.”

She gently nudged Kieran with her hand, and he ran forward to his mother’s outstretched arms. Morrigan lifted him from the ground, squeezing him so tightly her knuckles her white.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Kieran said, in his strangely airy voice. “I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time.” 

Morrigan shook her head as she lowered him to the ground. “I do not understand.”

“Never thought you would admit _that_ ,” Katria muttered under her breath, although Morrigan’s display of maternal attachment was certainly more endearing than anything else she’d ever done. 

Flemeth spoke to her. “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the darkness for justice,” she said. “And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest, her brow creased in thought. “So…you carry Mythal inside you?” 

“She is a part of me,” Flemeth explained. “No more separate than your heart from your chest.”

Katria did not think that analogy was entirely appropriate because currently her heart _was_ separate from her chest. It had been taken and was being held hostage by a dying man in the Arbor Wilds. She looked down at the stones underneath her. 

“You hear the voices of the well, girl,” Flemeth said. “What do they say?”

Morrigan swallowed. “They…say you speak the truth.”

Katria lifted her gaze and pushed her hand through her hair. “So, what does all this mean for us?” 

Flemeth cocked her head. “You are the Inquisitor, are you not?” She smirked. “A herald, indeed. Shouting to the heavens, a harbinger of a new age.” 

“I presume you didn’t drag me into the Fade just to compliment me,” she said. “Are you willing to help us?”

“Once I have what I came for,” Flemeth replied, her eyes shifting to Kieran. 

“No, I will not allow it,” Morrigan interjected, placing herself between Flemeth and Kieran. 

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness,” she said. “You know this.” 

“He is not your pawn, Mother,” she growled, then stamped her foot. “I will not let you use him!”

“Have _you_ not used him?” Flemeth asked back. “Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?”

“That was then,” Morrigan said. Her voice softened. “Now…now he is my _son_.”

Katria did not know what to think about Morrigan’s attachment to Kieran. It was certainly touching and it…challenged previous notions Katria had about the whole business of having children. Morrigan was the last person Katria would think to have maternal instinct, yet here she was more concerned for her son than her own life. If Morrigan could manage that, then perhaps Katria could too? Of course, she'd never dared to broach the topic with Cullen, who was the only man in the entirety of her life she'd even _consider_ having a family with. For all she knew, the idea of having children with her might be abhorrent to him, bringing another being into the world with her sense of humor. 

Morrigan looked over at her. “Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor.” 

Katria cleared her throat. She rather felt like an intruder at this bizarre family reunion. “That’s…not very nice,” she said. 

“That was the fate she intended for me,” Morrigan said, frowning. “I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead.” 

She sighed and rubbed her neck. “What…what _for_?” she asked. “Is there something…” 

“I am not the only one carrying the soul of a being once thought lost,” Flemeth said. 

“Of course you aren’t,” Katria muttered. She did not understand the growing trend of actual people carrying gods around with them—she prayed no one else would spring further nonsense upon her. Everything that had happened to her thus far was entirely weird enough. She shook her head. 

“Whatever else you think he is, Kieran is still a child.” 

Flemeth gave a small laugh. “And so much better behaved than his mother was at his age.” 

Morrigan was unamused and collapsed on her knees. “Kieran, I…”

Flemeth held out her hand. “Hear my proposal, dear girl,” she said. “Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or keep the lad with you, and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.” 

“Maker’s balls,” Katria blurted out, then covered her mouth. “That doesn’t really seem entirely fair.” 

Morrigan stood and replied immediately. “He returns with me.” 

“Decided so quickly?” Flemeth asked. 

“Do whatever you wish,” Morrigan said. “Take over my body now, if you must. But Kieran will be free of your clutches.” She scowled. “I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.” 

Flemeth looked a little disappointed by her words, but said nothing. She lifted her hands to Kieran, blue swirls gathering around them, before they faded. 

“No more dreams?” Kieran asked, gazing up at her. 

Flemeth nodded. “No more dreams.”

She turned to her daughter. “Listen to the voices, they will teach you. As I never did.” 

Morrigan knelt back down, clutching Kieran’s shoulders. “Are you alright? You are not hurt?”

“I feel lonely,” he said. 

“I feel mildly scared,” Katria remarked, looking around. “Can we get the…” She stopped herself from using profanity. “Can we get out of here?”

Morrigan urged Kieran forward, keeping her hand on his shoulder. She sighed and spoke after a few minutes. 

“Be thankful you did not drink from the Well,” she said. “I am evidentially tied to my mother for eternity.” 

Katria was very glad she did had not done that. She wanted to say “I told you so” but felt that might be inappropriate. She smiled slightly. “Forced to obey your mother? No worse fate than that, I suppose.” 

Morrigan just snorted. 

They reached the mirror, and Katria felt the tension in her muscles loosening. She practically ran through it, drinking in huge gulps of the crisp, garden air around her once she was on the other side. Morrigan and Kieran appeared behind her. 

Katria turned to her. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

She stroked Kieran’s dark hair. “Did I? She was testing me, and I cannot tell whether I passed.”

Katria was about to reply when a soldier hurried into the room. “Inquisitor.” 

She spun around on her heel. There was a letter in the soldier’s hand. Her stomach clenched. “Is that from…” 

Katria lurched forward and grabbed the ladder, ripping the seal with such force the parchment tore. She unfolded it with shaking hands. 

===

_Inquisitor,_

_Good news: Cullen’s fever broke overnight, and he woke up this morning, asking for you._

_He will be alright, if he follows my orders, which he is not doing because he is trying to work and also trying to convince me that he should return to Skyhold right away. He is as stubborn as you are._

_I told Cullen you loved him—that’s typically the ‘nice’ or ‘romantic’ thing you say to your lover, if you weren’t aware._

_Marianne_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this doesn't count so much as a cliff-hanger--maybe it does? I liked the symmetry of ending with letters, but I do promise to have the next chapter up by tomorrow (or maybe even tonight if I'm satisfied with the version I wrote and have the motivation) 
> 
> Thank y'all as always for being so awesome!


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Mondays are the worst, so hopefully two updates in one day makes it a little better! (It's still Monday where I am, at least)

Cullen was in recovery in the Arbor Wilds for another five days before Marianne was apparently so fed up with him she loaded him into the fastest caravan they had and sent him back to Skyhold. Katria was expecting his arrival any day and found it difficult to tear herself away from standing on the battlements and watching for their approach. Leliana and Josephine’s presence gave her more things to do, though, and they managed to keep her fairly busy. 

Katria returned to her office to finish up some work—she was still exhausted, but had been sleeping better since Marianne sent word that Cullen would live. Still, not seeing him or his injury kept her more anxious than she would have liked. Katria propped her arm on her desk and rested her forehead in her hand as she wrote. Her eyelids felt heavy after an hour, her curvy script blurring on the parchment underneath her. She convinced herself it would be acceptable to lay her head on the desk and rest her eyes for a few moments. 

The next thing she heard was her door opening. Katria’s eyes flew open, and she jerked up from her slouched position. Her head felt fuzzy and she blearily rubbed her eyes. The light cast onto her desk from the windows was dimmer. 

“Inquisitor?” One of her attendants was standing at the top of her stairs. 

Katria stretched and looked out at the balcony. She’d slept soundly, and for almost half the day. She rubbed the side of her face, turning her fingertips black because she’d rested her head on a letter with ink and drooled on it. Suddenly she was glad Cullen hadn’t seen her in that condition. 

Katria stood, peering into the only small mirror in the room near her bookshelf. She tried to scrub the black marks off her cheek.

“What is it?” she asked. 

“It’s Commander Cullen, Your Worship. He’s arrived in Skyhold.” 

Katria had removed most of the stain. Her hand dropped in a hurried motion. “What?” she blurted out, spinning around. “He’s…here?” 

“Yes.” 

Cullen. In Skyhold. Alive. Katria inhaled a sharp breath and then broke into a sprint across the room, down the stairs, and through the Great Hall. She didn’t care who saw her, or how improper it was. She skidded down the steps to the upper courtyard, then down the hill to where Marianne’s infirmary was near the portcullis.

A contingent of soldiers was milling around, unloading supplies, returning Dennet’s horses to the stables, but Cullen was nowhere in sight. She assumed that he had already been taken inside. 

She crossed the courtyard and burst into the room. Cullen was in a cot in the corner, sitting up with a report in his hand. Two of his soldiers were blocking her complete view of him.

“Cullen,” she said, with a desperate, aching, probably tearful, sound. She pushed herself between his men, separating them at the shoulders. 

Cullen looked up at her, his face brightening in an unfairly handsome way. Katria knocked the report from his grasp before sitting on the cot, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. 

The feeling of his lips against hers, the brush of his facial hair against her fingers, made a fierce feeling swell in her stomach. After only a few seconds, she let out a strangled sob, breaking their kiss, her breath coming out of her nose as she buried her head in his neck. She clung to him for a few minutes, the feeling of his warm chest against hers, her hands against his shoulders—all so _real_ and satisfying because she had feared she’d never see him again. Katria decided that she’d like to never, ever let him go. 

His hands touched her waist, and she heard the door being shut at the other side of the room. Katria took a deep breath and leaned back. Her brow creased as she smacked him on the shoulder. 

“You’re a stupid asshole, you know that?” 

“Ow, Kat-,” He rubbed the spot she’d made contact with. She knew it was nowhere near his injury, thankfully. “What was that for?” he asked exasperatedly.

She pointed a finger at him. “You have a lot of nerve—a lot of _nerve_ distressing me like you did. How dare you…” She swallowed as tears welled up in her eyes. “How dare you make me love you so much,” she finished, her voice shaking, before she buried her face in his neck again. 

Cullen began rubbing her back with a small laugh. “What are you doing?” 

“Not crying,” she muttered with a sniffle. “Definitely not that.”

He trailed light kisses down her neck. “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Katria settled back on the cot, making sure to wipe her eyes first. She sighed. “It was so horrible—I thought I’d lost you, and I was stuck here, waiting. I’ve never…felt so helpless.” 

“I’m alive, and I’m here now,” he said, squeezing her hand. 

She nodded. “You’re okay, right?” 

“I am,” he assured her. “I’m completely in the clear…if I continue to rest. It will be a scar, nothing more.” Cullen carefully lifted up his tunic on the opposite side of her—not much was visible, obviously, but she assumed the wound went from his hip to part-way down his thigh. 

Katria whimpered. “Cullen…” She hugged his neck. “Maker, you’re lucky to be alive.” 

“And how many times could that be said about you, Inquisitor?” he asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Stop changing the subject,” she murmured, running her fingers along his cheeks. A smile crept across her face as she examined the volume of facial hair along his jaw—he had more than twice the amount of stubble he normally had. It was darker than the hair on his head. “What is all this? Are you trying to give Blackwall a run for his money?”

“Excuse me for not having time to shave while I recovered from a grievous injury,” he remarked, smiling back at her. 

Katria shrugged. “Maybe I like it.” 

She kissed him, more fully this time, his mouth opening, the hair in his beard scraping her chin. She ran her fingers along his scalp, and he pulled her closer while she sat on the cot. He deepened their kiss, and his hands tugged at the bottom of her tunic. 

Katria pulled slightly away, but he got in a few more kisses before she finally spoke. 

“Cullen, you’re injured,” she said breathlessly. “I am sure Marianne gave you explicit instructions not to partake in any…strenuous activity.” 

He ran his fingers along her cheek before pulling her closer and pressing his mouth against her neck, his facial hair prickling the sensitive skin there. She let out a soft sigh and felt him smile. 

“I recall no such conversation,” he said. 

Katria put her hands on his chest and pushed away from him. “You obviously have not been paying attention then.” 

“That’s probably true,” he said, taking her hand again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it was very distracting.” 

“ _I_ am the healthy one,” she said. “At least your thoughts were nice. Mine were consumed with whether I’d ever see you again.” 

Cullen smiled sadly at her and kissed the middle of her palm. “I’m here now,” he told her again. 

“But you’re hurt,” she protested. “And it’s my fault. I left you and entered the Temple when I should have stayed.” 

“Don’t say such absurd things,” Cullen said firmly. “If Corypheus accessed that Eluvian we’d all be dead right now. You did the right thing.” 

“I know it was the right thing to do,” she said, sighing. “That doesn’t mean I _wanted_ to do it. You’ve turned me into a blubbering fool, who’d rather protect you than the rest of the world.” 

“You can say that, but you will always make the moral choice,” he replied. “That’s why I love you so much.” 

“No, I was supposed to say that first,” Katria said, pouting. “I was going to say ‘I love you’ to show you how much better I am at it. How much this experience has taught me. It doesn’t work if I’m just replying to you.” 

“Don’t let that stop you,” he said, smiling softly. “I like hearing you say it.” 

She took his face in her hands and leaned closer to him. “I love you, Cullen.” 

Her lips closed around his mouth, and as she wrapped her arms around his neck, she remembered that she’d sworn to say more than I love you. To convey in a clearer way what she wanted. Maybe. 

Katria pulled away from him, opened her mouth, then stood. 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “Leaving so soon?” 

“No,” she said, walking over to a small table and inspecting the bowls of elfroot and embrium that had been gathered. “I just…would you like some tea, maybe? Have your bandages been changed recently?” 

“Neither of those things are your job,” Cullen told her. “Now come back over here.” 

Katria spun around and leaned against the table, her hands gripping the edges. She was nervous now, jittery. “What do you think about—that is, I mean…us and, later, I…” 

“If you come sit with me, I’m sure you’ll make more sense,” Cullen said, gesturing her over. 

She did not move. Her fingers tapped the wood behind her. Maker, this was impossible. She turned back to the table, and noticing a mortar and pestle, began to grind some elfroot into a paste. Because Cullen might need it. Later. For something. 

He slumped back against the wall. “Maker’s breath, you-,” 

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” she asked, probably a little too loudly, her eyes focused on her task. She had forced the question out like a breath of air. Cullen did not respond immediately, and she swallowed in the silence. 

“My…” She could feel his eyes on her back. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice a little shaky.

“I’m asking _you_ to say something about…” She gestured vaguely to the side. “The thing I just said. General thoughts, ideas…”

“Katria Trevelyan, I’d marry you, if you’ll let me.” 

She dropped the pestle and it clinked against the bowl. Her mouth stretched into the largest, stupidest smile that she tried to cover with her hand. “I-I…I was thinking more general feelings about-,” 

“Katria,” he said. “Come. Here.” 

She didn’t have the grounds to refuse him now and shuffled back over to the cot, sitting down hesitantly while he took her hands and then kissed her. It gave her a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“Eventually,” she said, pulling away and biting her lip. 

His brow creased. “Eventually…?” 

“What you said,” Katria replied, her cheeks flushed. “We could… _eventually_.”

Cullen ran his thumb along her cheek. “It’s not something we have to do at all. As long as we’re together, it hardly matters.” 

“Perhaps.” She grinned and looked at him. “However, you _do_ get a fair number of marriage proposals, so maybe I should stake my claim on you in the most official way possible to keep the noble vultures away.” 

“Interesting motivation you have there,” he remarked with a short laugh. 

“Well, I love you and all that,” she said. “But I also think…” She shrugged. “I mean, what if we’re only together because of our common enemy? When all this Corypheus business ends, what if we’re not compatible anymore, or-,”

“You really think that would happen?” Cullen asked, laughing. “You think _Corypheus_ is the only thing bringing us together?” 

“Well—well, maybe it’s my status as Inquisitor,” she said quickly. “It has a certain allure to it, you know, independent of me, the actual Inquisitor.” 

“Maker’s breath,” he said, squeezing her arms. “I love you very much. Katria, the woman. The brave, morally-upright, compassion-,” 

“Yes, yes, alright, I get it,” she cut in hastily, blushing. “You’re going to suffocate me with your compliments.” 

Cullen pulled her closer, nestling his head against her shoulder. “You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

“I have some idea,” she said and put a hand in his hair. “Since you make me happy too.” 

“Then we won’t have a problem after you handily defeat Corypheus,” he said, lacing his fingers together around her waist. “We’ll remain together, probably be happier since there won’t be any darkspawn magisters around. And then we’ll, you know...” He cleared his throat. “Eventually.” 

“I don’t think my defeat of Corypheus will be done handily,” she muttered. “If at all.” 

Cullen squeezed her tightly. “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Not now. Maker, I think about losing you enough.”

“I’ll…” Katria paused because she didn’t know if she could honestly assure him she would survive or be fine. She instead kissed the side of his head. “I’ll go make you some tea.” 

He did not release her. “Stay here.” 

She snorted. “You don’t have to pretend, my prince. I’ve seen you eyeing that report on the floor.” 

“I-I wasn’t-,” 

Katria stood and reached for the parchment lying face down on the stone beside them. She read the first few lines. “Ah, Samson. That explains your interest.” 

“He is being escorted to Skyhold for judgment,” Cullen said.

She exhaled. “I’d like to talk tomorrow morning about our options in the War Room. Dagna’s informed me of her desire to study him.” 

“Samson could have valuable insight into Corypheus’ movements,” he said. 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “And would you have an interest in extracting that information?” 

Cullen looked away from her. “What he knows is too valuable to pass up on.” 

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Perhaps Leliana will have some other ideas. She might just want to lob his head off.”

“I would prefer that honor,” Cullen muttered, frowning. 

Katria walked back over to him, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Stop working yourself up over Samson. You’re meant to be recovering, not doing your job.” 

“I can do both at the same time,” he said, taking the report from the table beside him. 

“I can understand Marianne’s frustration with you now,” she said, grinning. “She deserves a raise for putting up with you.”

“We should probably double her salary,” Cullen remarked. “I was very insistent that I be allowed to return to Skyhold. She looked ready to throttle me.”

She kissed him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m sorry that you were so distressed before I woke up,” he said. His thumb swept under one eye. “It doesn’t look like you’ve slept at all.” 

“I…” Katria hesitated. “I didn’t handle your condition with as much grace as I should have, I imagine. It’s just…I haven’t lost anything important to me in a long time because I stopped letting things be important to me.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “But now, there’s _us_ , and the thought of losing you was almost too much to bear.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

Katria ran her fingers along his lower arm. “It’s okay. I’m learning to deal with these emotions. And…something good came out of it, right? I worked up the courage to talk to you about…things.”

“I am very glad for that,” Cullen said. 

She shrugged. “And, you never know, maybe we’ll discuss…other things. That relate to the first thing. Like producing…” She felt her heart rate quicken, and she cleared her throat. Her tongue felt swollen, like it’d grown just to keep her from continuing to speak. “Well.” 

He smiled at her, his mouth quirking up. “I look forward to that conversation—eventually, right?” 

Katria nodded. 

“Eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter contained the optimal fluff ratio as promised!


	50. Chapter Fifty

Cullen _was_ quite impossible to deal with as an injured person. Katria figured she shouldn’t be surprised—he ignored rather than treated his withdrawal symptoms, so other injuries or types of pain wouldn’t be any different. She told him once to take care of himself, then let him do what he wanted, which was to leave the infirmary and start wearing his armor only a week after he had returned.

The only good thing that came from that arrangement was the fact that most nights he was too exhausted and sore to climb up the ladder to his room, and when Katria invited him to her quarters, he would fall right to sleep on her bed. Most of the time, anyway.

“Cullen, I swear to the Maker if you don’t go back to sleep, I’ll… _I’ll_...” Katria grunted and buried her face into her pillow. She was laying on her side with her back to Cullen, who was sitting in bed reading some report and _obnoxiously_ tapping his fingers against the wood board in his hand.

“You’ll what?” he asked absentmindedly. 

She pulled the covers tighter over her shoulders. “I’m too tired to think of an adequate threat. But whatever I come up with, it will hurt.”

Cullen just grunted in response. After only a few seconds of listening to the incessant _tap-tap-tap_ of his fingers, Katria blindly threw her hand back over her head, fumbling until her fingers curled around the report. She felt him tightening his grip and pulling backwards, but she still managed to rip it from his grasp and hurl it across the room, where it clattered against her desk. 

“Hey!” he said impatiently. “I was reading that.” 

Katria nestled her hand under her head. “And now you’re not. There’s three more hours until sunrise, so blow out your candle, go to sleep, and you can read it when it’s _actually_ morning.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Cullen muttered. 

“Well sometimes I think _you’re_ more in love with your job than you are with me.”

“What—Kat…” He sounded hurt.

She tightened her grip on her pillow. “Sorry. I get cranky when absurdly handsome princes keep me from getting my beauty rest.” 

Cullen scooted over and put his arm around her waist. “I think you’re beautiful enough already.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise. “Varric give you that one?”

His breath ruffled the back of her hair. “No, Varric and Bull give me unprompted suggestions that are much more…inappropriate.”

“I would prefer _that_ to Cassandra-style romantic nonsense,” she replied.

Cullen leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I will keep that in mind.” 

She could feel him still hovering, his nose just barely brushing her neck. He waited only a few beats before speaking again. 

“What have you decided about Samson?”

Katria gave a sharp exhale and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Apparently if Cullen could not _read_ about work, he had to _talk_ about it.

“Samson?” she began. “Ah, yes. I was thinking of completely pardoning him, and then hiring him to be the leader of my personal guard. Thoughts?” 

“Don’t even joke about that, Katria,” Cullen growled. 

She sat up abruptly, throwing the covers off her and glaring down at him in the darkness. “Then don’t talk to me about work while I’m trying to sleep!” 

“You’re judging him in less than five hours,” he said. “I just wanted to know!” 

“I think you’ll find out in five hours like everyone else,” she snapped before flopping back down on the bed. 

“You _are_ grumpy.” 

Katria thought very seriously about throwing her elbow backwards directly into his chest, but instead bundled up the covers in her fists and turned so violently they were completely wrapped around her. And not Cullen. 

He sighed, but sounded like he was smiling slightly. “Alright, I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” Cullen scooted back over to her and wrapped both his arms around her, bed sheets and all. Katria could just feel the pressure of his grasp through all the blankets. She shivered as his cold fingers pushed aside the hair at the nape of her neck. He lightly kissed her there. 

“I love you.” 

“I don’t think I’d put up with you otherwise.” She wiggled around in the blankets to make herself more comfortable before clearing her throat. “And I love you too. Obviously. Which we’ve established.” 

Cullen kissed her again before rolling onto his back. He was obviously exhausted because in a matter of minutes, his breathing became slower and more rhythmic. She turned slightly and peeked over at him. As much as she liked watching his bare chest in the moonlight, she freed some of the blanket from around her and threw it over him. A small smile flickered across his supposedly sleeping face. Katria settled back down with her back to him. She didn’t feel like sleeping so much now. Her mind was too preoccupied. Probably because she had no idea what she was going to do with Samson. 

===

Cullen was not there when Katria woke up. By the coolness of the sheets where he normally laid, he’d probably been gone for a while. She rose out of bed and slipped on the outfit Josephine had selected for the occasion, which luckily was nothing too extravagant. She received and responded to a flurry of messages while she ate her breakfast. Eventually, a messenger appeared and informed her Samson was being prepared to be brought before her at the previously agreed upon time. Katria wiped her sweaty palms on her breeches, then made her way to the Great Hall. 

The image Katria projected as the Inquisitor really only consisted of having excellent posture and a neutral expression. She had little skill to do anything else, but her stoic face was convincing, according to Leliana, at least. Katria sat in her throne in a way she imagined could be described as ‘primly.’ The voices in the Great Hall dimmed to indistinguishable murmurs. While Katria waited, she pretended to examine the decorations Josephine had commissioned for the room. They looked great, and tasteful—a combination of Free Marches symbols and Chantry heraldry, probably to compensate for Katria’s lack of religiosity. 

The clanking of shackles drew her eyes to the middle of the room. Cullen walked briskly towards her, his back perfectly straight, hand rested on his sword. Samson was being dragged forward, and looked no better than when she saw him in the Arbor Wilds. His skin was sallow, eyes hallow and bloodshot, it was as if his life force had been wrung out of him and left just a husk of a man. 

“Forgive me, Inquisitor,” Cullen began as he neared her. “For personal interest, I have relieved Josephine. As you might expect.”

Katria just nodded curtly and motioned for him to continue. 

“Knight-Templar Samson, general to Corypheus, traitor to the Order. The blood on his hands cannot be measured.” He glanced back at her, frowning. “His head is too valuable to take. Kirkwall, Orlais: many would see him suffer. I can’t say I’m not one of them.”

Katria raised an eyebrow. “The headman’s axe isn’t enough?” she asked. “That’s an impressive amount of ill-will.” 

Samson finally looked up at her, sneering. “The red lyrium will steal your vengeance. You know what it does. Corypheus only delayed my corruption.”

“Are you still loyal to that thing?” Cullen asked, his anger very thinly concealed. “He poisoned the Order, used them to kill thousands!”

“Templars have always been used!” Samson snapped. “How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds?” He scowled. “Piss on it! I followed him so at least Templars could die at their best.”

“I’ve seen what you did to those Templars,” Katria said. “And they were not at their best.” 

“It’s the same lie as the Chantry,” he said, then his eyes racked down the rest of her lounging frame. “The prophet just isn’t as pretty.”

Katria leaned forward, one hand on her knee. “I found your people,” she said. “They believed in you. Believed your cause was righteous.”

“Not your business, Inquisitor,” he ground out.

Cullen interjected. Again. “Your friend Maddox was so loyal he killed himself,” he said. “For you.” 

Samson looked down at the floor. “They were always going to die. I saw what Corypheus was doing, so yes, I fed them hope instead of despair. I made them believe their pain had purpose. Just like the Chantry.” 

He threw a scowl at Cullen, who stiffened. “Right, Commander?” Samson then sighed. “It ended as well as anything else I’ve done.”

Katria tried to swallow down the small amount of sympathy she felt for him. She leaned back against the stiff wooden frame of her throne. “Are you more loyal to Corypheus or your Templars?” 

Samson shook his head. “Corypheus would kill me onsite,” he said. “I’ll tell your people what they want. Everything I cared for is destroyed.” 

Not an answer to her question, but good news nonetheless. “Very well,” she said, and pointed down at him. “Samson, you will spend your remaining years serving the Inquisition.” Katria hesitated, then lowered her hand. “Cullen will be your handler. Perhaps he can get something useful out of you.” 

Samson snorted. “I doubt the Commander believes there’s anything worthy left in me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Cullen said, his brow wrinkled slightly. “But you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that.”

The two soldiers on either side of Samson grabbed him and nudged him backwards. Katria drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne before standing. She could feel Cullen staring at her, so she met his gaze. He looked severe, like he always did as the Commander, but gave her a small nod. Katria returned to her quarters to sit and hope that all this was finally over. 

===

Katria went to visit Cullen in his office at the end of the day—she was trying to give him as much distance and time as possible to process what had happened. She knew he was still upset the minute she entered the room—mostly because he was throwing daggers. 

Katria leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, watching as he reared his arm back and hurled a dagger at the dummy on the other side of his office. 

“Warriors,” she said, shaking her head. “Always throwing daggers with such little finesse.” 

Cullen sighed, and she knew immediately, like most times lately, he didn’t appreciate her joke. He clenched his jaw. “Samson took everything from those Templars. He corrupted their _souls_ , twisted them into everything they stood against. Everything they would have hated.”

Katria pushed herself from the wall. “You’re letting Samson get to you.”

His neck snapped up so he could meet her gaze. “And what if I am?” he demanded. “The red lyrium left Samson’s mind unaltered. He _knew_ what he was doing.” Cullen scowled. “He dares speak as though it were a mercy? The man’s a monster.”

She approached his desk. “Samson is everything you say, but it’s over. You have to let this go.”

Cullen sighed bitterly. “Over for us, perhaps. For Samson. Not for those still controlled by Corypheus.”

“Has Samson given up any useful information to you yet?” Katria asked. 

He frowned even more deeply. “No. Despite his proclamation to you, he has been less than cooperative.” 

“Really?” she began. “Maker’s balls, it’s like everything has to be difficult all the time. Perhaps I could talk to him?”

“That won’t be necessary, Inquisitor.” 

Katria reached up and tugged on her braid. “I see. Please keep me updated, at the least.” 

“I will.” 

They stood in silence for a few moments, and she couldn’t stand it, so she threw out some words. “You’ve done a good job, Cullen. I’m glad it’s—I’m glad we stopped him.” 

Cullen reached out and rested his palms on his desk. “The red Templars needed to be torn down. We’ve broken Corypheus’ army.” He peeked up at her. “I…might have known some of them. If my life had gone differently, I might have _been_ one of them.”

He straightened and rubbed his neck. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the Conclave? If you’d never become the Inquisitor?”

The answer to that question was yes. A frequent yes. In the beginning, like always, all she wanted to do was escape, and that desire spawned fantasies where the mark was put on someone else’s hand, someone more qualified, while she got to return to the comfort of the forest. But she didn’t know if it was a good idea to articulate that—she didn’t even know if that was true anymore. 

Katria circled his desk and stood close to him. She put her hands on his cheeks, watching his brows rise slightly in surprise. 

“A life without you?” she began, then pressed her lips against his. “Never.” 

Cullen let a bashful smile inch across his face as she released him. He then reached for a report on his desk to continue to work, so Katria left his office without saying anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably will be a few more days before the next chapter is up? It's divergence (because clearly there hasn't been enough of _that_ in this story), so I want to make sure my ducks are in a row and all, but it should be exciting!


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section ended up being longer than I expected, so here is part one!

Katria was standing in front of the door leading to Skyhold’s dungeon, rubbing her fingertips nervously together, which was ridiculous because she _shouldn’t_ be nervous. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, she could do what she wanted. Although probably not without consequences, of course. 

Katria steeled herself and pushed through the door, then descended the stairs. It was cooler and dank in the dungeon, but the torches along the walls gave her enough visibility. There were two guards standing post, who straightened when they saw her. She gave them both polite smiles before slipping past them. 

Samson was in a cell nearby, huddled in the corner, staring listlessly at the wall. His bloodshot eyes moved to her, and he smirked. 

“I know why you’re here.” 

“Do you?” Katria asked, peering at him between the bars of his cell. 

“Cullen isn’t getting what he wants, so he’s run to his little Inquisitor for help,” he replied acridly. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, more confident now because Samson was so utterly wrong about that. Cullen had told her about Samson’s refusal to share any information, but had continued to insist that her intervention was not necessary. He…might even be upset she’d come without telling him. 

“Why aren’t you giving us any information?” she asked. “You told me that you would—that nothing else mattered.” 

“That’s the point,” Samson snapped, throwing up his hand. “I let down my men—and for what? You won’t win. Corypheus can’t be beat. Try and make me if you’d like. I don’t care.” 

Katria put her hand on the metal bars in front of her. “I’m not interested in torturing you.” She shrugged. “If you give me enough information, I might even be lenient with you.” 

Samson snorted. “Like your Commander would ever agree to that.” He glared at her. “I’m not talking—I’m not betraying my men, and I’m sure as fuck not giving the world another reason to worship Cullen. He’ll use my information and send his weak, pathetic men out to do his job and he’ll just think he’s so _fucking_ smart.”

Katria tapped her fingers impatiently against the metal bars. This was getting nowhere. She glanced down the hallway at the guards, then slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her lock-picking kit. She briefly examined the door in the flickering torchlight, selected the proper implements and then stepped forward so her hands weren’t visible as she wiggled the pick around. Cullen, apparently, had the only key to Samson’s cell, and she was not about to ask him for it. 

“What are you doing?” Samson asked. 

Katria heard the lock click. She pushed the gate slightly open with her shoulder. 

“I just thought you and I could get better acquainted,” she said innocently, stepping into his cell, trying to ignore the smell. 

Samson puffed out like a threatened animal, but he did not look intimidating—he had been stripped of his armor, and his body was sapped of strength. 

“So you’re going to try and beat information out of me?” 

There was a small bench inside, and Katria sat on it across from him, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Not really my style.” 

Samson scrutinized her. “I knew you were daft in the head.” 

“Keep up with the insults, and I will be forced to hit you in the face,” she told him. “But otherwise, I’m not here to threaten you.” 

“Then what do you want?” he asked warily. 

“I’m like you,” she said, which earned her a scoff. “I want to help the Templars. I know there’s no hope for you, but Dagna has done extensive studies on red lyrium and-,” 

“A fool’s errand,” he spat. “The red lyrium makes them good—more powerful.” He scowled. “You may have convinced Barris and those other cowards to join you at Haven, but the rest? They’re my men, and they don’t need your help.” 

Katria clenched her fist in frustration. “There _must_ be something you want. I am willing to negotiate if it keeps more innocent people from getting hurt.” 

He slammed his hand down on the stone floor under him. “I want lyrium—I want Commander Cullen’s head on a fucking pike, I want those utter shits in the Chantry to pay for what they did to me!”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to any of those terms,” Katria replied, crossing her wrists on one knee. “But I’m sorry about what happened to you.” 

Samson folded his arms over his chest with a disbelieving grunt. 

“I am,” she insisted. “Regardless of what evil you’ve done, what happened in Kirkwall was inherently wrong. Now, that doesn’t justify what you did afterwards, but…” Katria sighed. “But I acknowledge that terrible things happen to basically good people and turn them into something worse. Doesn’t mean it has to be that way forever.”

“Why are you here?” Samson growled. “You think being _nice_ to me is going to get you anywhere?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m simply being reasonable. Therefore, you should tell me what I want to know.” 

“Not going to happen, Inquisitor,” he snapped. “Everyone gives you what you want because they think you shit gold, but I’m not convinced.” 

Katria ran her fingers along her temple, and Samson spoke again in the silence. 

“You seem pretty stupid in my estimation, in fact. I could attack you in this cell, kill you.” 

She laughed, the sound echoing up the walls. “If there’s anything I am confident in, it’s my ability to defend myself.” She leaned back and smirked. “But try, if you’d like. I should warn you I’m armed.” 

Samson curled up into himself with a frown. “You’re a bloody idiot if you think Corypheus won’t kill you.” 

“I’d be a bigger idiot if I didn’t even try to stop him,” Katria said. She shifted and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Why did you join him in the first place? Corypheus.” 

Samson replied, but still seemed weary. “He wanted a leader for the red Templars who couldn’t be destroyed by the lyrium.” His expression was mulish. “I wasn’t just some figure head. He trusted me with command.”

“And you didn’t think what he was trying to do was a little…problematic?” 

Samson clenched his jaw. “I was a Kirkwall gutter snipe crawling after lyrium. Corypheus gave me back my sword. I’d have been a fool to say no.” He let out a long breath. “I was a greater fool for saying yes.” 

Progress. That sounded like progress. Katria figured saying _please give me information_ would not be the final step in persuading him, so she mulled through her options in a matter of seconds. She suddenly had an idea that was either stupid or bold, and before deciding which it was, she stood. 

“Let’s go, Samson.” 

Katria walked out of the cell and called for the two guards at the end of the hall. They hurried forward with bewildered expressions. 

“Please shackle Samson,” she ordered. “He and I have somewhere to be.” 

They complied in haste, clamping irons around his wrists and dragging him out of his cell. 

“Is this some kind of game?” Samson growled. 

Katria walked down the corridor in front of them. “If this were a game, we’d be having fun. I don’t know about you, but I am decidedly _not_ having that.”

She climbed the stairs to the ground floor, peering into the hallway and then allowing the guards and Samson to pass her. She then took the lead to an empty room nearby. Katria had him seated at the only table inside, and ordered him unshackled. To their horror, the soldiers were sent outside to guard the door. 

“But, Your Worship,” one protested. 

She waved her hand dismissively. “I will be fine. In fact, could one of you fetch me a map? Of Thedas. Thank you.” 

“A map?” 

Katria closed the door with a nod and a smile before turning to Samson. 

“Isn’t this more comfortable?” she asked. 

“Comfort?” he sneered. “That’s your strategy now?” 

“My strategy has not changed,” she said. “I’m still just trying to be reasonable.” 

Samson smirked, leaning back against the wooden chair under him. “Will Cullen think that when he hears about this?” 

“I have no interest in talking to you about Commander Cullen,” Katria said simply. 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I know you’re fucking him.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “I really don’t see how you could _know_ that.”

The door burst open and one of the soldiers appeared, a map clutched in his hand. He handed it over with an apprehensive expression before disappearing. Katria walked over and spread the map across the table, Thedas unraveling before her. Samson leaned forward slightly. 

She pointed to an area in north Orlais. “Put you hand here.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?” 

“Because I asked?” she replied. “So I don’t cut off your hand and put it there myself?” 

Samson huffed and spread his palm over the spot she’d gestured to. 

Katria leaned back. “Do you know where that is?” 

“The Shrine of Dumat,” he ground out. 

“No,” she said, and in the next moment pulled the dagger from her belt and slammed it into the table right between his fingers. Samson abruptly recoiled, his chair screeching against the wood floor. 

“ _That_ is where I buried Maddox,” she snapped. “He died for you, my enemy, and I properly laid him to rest anyway. I dug a hole in the ground and put his body in it because I’m not a shitty person like Corypheus.”

Samson didn’t respond, just held his hand to his chest and stared at the hilt of her dagger. Katria leaned over the map. 

“Maddox spoke to us before he died. He told me you rescued him in Kirkwall, before you even needed him. He might have been Tranquil, but Maddox knew there was something decent in you.” 

“Well he’s dead,” Samson muttered. “I didn’t do him much good.” 

“If Maddox were alive, he wouldn’t be impressed by you now,” she said. 

“You can’t know that,” he sneered. 

Katria leaned forward more. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

They sat in a tense silence for a few moments. She saw Samson’s hand twitch, watched how his eyes narrowed as he further examined her dagger. The next thing she saw was the white flash of his arm as it shot out and grasp the hilt. 

He pried it from the table and lunged at her. 

Katria dodged right, pinned his hand down and then slammed his head into the center of the map. The knife clattered to the floor as he released it with a cry of pain. 

She kept his head pressed into the wood with her hand on his neck. “Nice try, asshole.” 

Samson gave a humorless laugh. “I think you were asking for it, Inquisitor.”

Katria released him, glaring, and he sat up. “You are a man, past your prime, experiencing severe withdrawal symptoms from red lyrium. I wasn’t worried,” she said.

“I’m stronger than you know, Inquisitor,” he replied. 

“My question is: why bother?” she asked, shaking her head. “You said Corypheus would kill you on-site. Slitting my throat for him seems fruitless. That, and there are guards outside the doors who would disembowel you the minute you hurt me.” 

“I wouldn’t kill you for Corypheus,” Samson said in a low voice. 

“Why would you then?” she asked. 

He looked up at her with a sick smile. “I was going to slit your throat open, my hands coated in your blood, so I could show Cullen what I’d done to the woman he loves.” 

Katria picked her knife off the floor and inspected it. “A rather poorly-executed plan on your part,” she remarked. “Although I am not conceding that I am the woman Cullen loves. You don’t seem like the type to indulge in idle gossip, Samson. Shame on you.”

“Who wouldn’t, Inquisitor?” he asked mockingly. 

“Wouldn’t what?” she asked. 

“Love you.” 

Katria gave a sharp laugh. “So now that the assassination attempt has failed, you move to flattery?”

“No,” he said, scooting forward in his chair. “But I wonder, who would dare deny the Inquisitor? Who _wouldn’t_ love the woman who is the second coming of the greatest woman in Chantry history? Is fucking you a holy calling for him?”

She slid her dagger into her belt with a frown. “I told you I had no interest in talking to you about Commander Cullen.” 

He put his palm on the table. “Does he cry out your real name when he’s inside you, or are you still just the Inquisitor?”

“That’s enough,” she said, her whole body tensing in anger she tried to conceal. “I see in addition to making you a little insane, the red lyrium made you hard of hearing.”

Samson sat back, looking smug. “I’m enjoying our conversation now.” 

“Tell me what I want to know,” Katria said firmly—she knew he had lashed out because she was getting to him, making him _feel_.

He gestured with his long, bony fingers. “Give me the knife.” 

“Do I look stupid?” 

Samson shrugged. “Hand it over or I tell you nothing.” 

Katria clenched her jaw before reaching into her belt and tossing her dagger onto the table. He took it in his hand and dug it into a different point on the map. 

“The Hissing Wastes.” 

Katria stepped forward to get a closer look. He’d pinpointed an area just north of the Western Approach. 

“What’s there?” she asked. “Other than a shitty desert.” 

“Don’t know, exactly,” he replied. “But there are a lot of Venatori agents searching some dwarven ruins. Had to send some of my men there, too. The Venatori are eager to make up for their blunder at Redcliffe.” 

Katria felt the tightness in her chest loosening somewhat. “Thank you,” she said. “Will you share more with Cullen?” 

“No.” 

“What is your problem with him?” she asked abruptly, then immediately regretted letting the words escape her mouth. 

Samson’s brow creased in anger. “My problem?” he began. “My _problem_ is that precious pretty-boy Cullen has gotten everything he’s wanted. The right job, the fancy armor, a woman—he’s fucking the _Inquisitor_ for Andraste’s sake. All this for the man who in Kirkwall didn’t even think mages were people!” He stood, his voice rising. “Cullen was nothing but a coward who jumped at his own shadow, lapped up Meredith’s every word, went along with all her evil— _I_ was the good man. _I_ helped Maddox. And they kick me out onto the streets?”

Samson clenched his fists. “Cullen is a shit of a man who _abandoned_ the Order. He does not deserve all that he has. I do.” 

Katria swallowed in the silence that hung between them, her heart racing in her chest. She stepped back. “Thank you for your cooperation—for sharing that information,” she said mildly. “I will have my soldiers escort you back to your cell. I’ll see if I can arrange some additional comforts for you—especially if you continue to cooperate.” 

“I don’t need comfort,” Samson said. “I’m dying. The damage is done. I can feel it. Lyrium takes us all eventually.” 

The door opened behind Katria, and she turned, taking a sharp, quiet breath when she saw Cullen in front of her. His expression was neutral, but his grip on his sword was tight, stretching the leather in his gloves. The two soldiers who had been standing guard filed in behind him and began shackling Samson. 

“I guess the fun’s over,” Samson remarked as he was pulled from the chair. He was smirking. Katria stepped aside to let them pass. 

“Bye, Inquisitor.” 

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your cooperation.” 

The door shut behind them, leaving Katria alone with Cullen in a tense silence so thick she could probably swim through it. He walked over to the table, staring down at the map where her dagger was still placed. 

“The Hissing Wastes,” Katria said as she stood beside him. “Apparently there’s a lot of Venatori activity there. I will have Leliana send scouts.” 

Cullen’s tone was measured, like he’d thought through every word to keep himself from flying off the handle. “I told you I had the situation handled.”

“I was only trying to help,” she said, pushing her loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. 

“Well, you didn’t.” 

Katria gestured to the map. “Actually, I did.” 

He pivoted on his heel, facing her, his angry gaze boring down into her. “You took a huge and completely unnecessary risk. You went behind my back to meet with Samson _after_ you ordered me to be his handler. I thought that we had gotten past the point where you made selfish, reckless, and senseless decisions without telling anyone else.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed your _permission_ to do my job,” she snapped.

“It is not your job to put yourself alone in a room with an incredibly dangerous man and completely neglect to tell any of your advisors about your plan!” he spat back. His composure was fraying like a brittle rope, and she kept pulling harder on it.

Katria threw her hands up. “You are just mad that I actually got results! You’ve been trying every day for three weeks to crack him, and you’ve failed.” 

“I made progress,” Cullen insisted angrily. 

She rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re _consumed_ by this part of your job doesn’t mean you’re good at it.” 

"Maker, you'd like to have _this_ conversation again?" He scowled. “You know, Katria, maybe I would work less if _you_ didn’t make my job so difficult.” 

Katria had an odd feeling in her stomach, a fuzziness in her head—she was losing her temper and that never happened. But she’d been stressing herself out thinking about the inevitability of this exact conversation. It was just as bad as she’d feared it be and she disliked Cullen for that. 

“Maybe if you keep questioning my authority, you won’t _have_ a job!”

Cullen’s angry expression abruptly faded as his brow wrinkled. “What?” 

She felt a pang of regret shoot through her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her hand to her forehead. “I—I would never actually-,” 

“You are acting like a child,” Cullen snapped. He rubbed his neck more aggressively than normal than let his hand fly to his side. “I can’t do this with you. I…” He started heading for the door. “Please alert me the next time you plan on speaking to Samson, Inquisitor.” 

Katria sighed. “Cullen, please, this isn’t a big deal.” 

“I suppose not,” he said, turning his head to look at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. “You are the Inquisitor, and you may do whatever you please.” He stopped just before he left, his eyes not on her any longer. “I guess you’ve been right all this time. I really don’t know who you are.” 

She made an exasperated noise. “Cullen-,” 

The sound of the door closing cut her off, and Katria was alone with a dagger, a map, and her choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts/comments always appreciated for canon divergence because half the damn time I'm just banging my head against my desk wondering what the heck I'm doing with my life/choices. Part of the reason I wanted to try this was my thought that Samson would be super hate/jealous of Cullen, so he'd be quite resistant to giving him information, really by no fault of Cullen's own. 
> 
> Thank ya'll for your continued support!


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

Cullen did not turn up in Katria's quarters at any point that day or at night after their argument. She did not seek him out either, but hated laying in her bed that night alone, colder because his warm body wasn’t beside her. Then she chastised herself for such sentimental thoughts because she was supposed to be angry at his outburst. 

The next morning, as was customary, she met with her advisors in the War Room. They had made only a little progress tracking Corypheus, but Leliana had complied some initial reports on Samson’s tip about Venatori activity in the Hissing Wastes. 

“By all accounts, his information is likely accurate,” Leliana remarked. “I will know for certain once my scouts further investigate the area. Hopefully we can deal them a significant blow.” She turned to Cullen. “Has Samson given you any more information?” 

Cullen’s expression had been stoic the entire meeting, but at her question, his brow puckered just slightly. “Yes, he has been… _slightly_ more cooperative since the Inquisitor spoke to him.” 

“It was a good idea to do that, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “I’m glad it yielded results.” 

Katria smiled smugly at Cullen, whose face only darkened, until Leliana cleared her throat. 

“Although you perhaps should have _told_ us about your plans first.” 

Katria’s smile faded, and she grunted. “Oh, yes, I have been duly informed of the _opinion_ that my actions were too reckless.”

“That opinion is a reflection of fact, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. 

She looked down at the map, trying to appear nonchalant, while also hoping her words cut him. “The only facts present in this situation are the ones _I_ coerced from Samson.”

He frowned. “I didn’t realize unnecessary and completely inappropriate kindness was a form of coercion.” 

Her tone hardened. “It _worked_.”

Josephine cleared her throat before Cullen could speak and gave a polite smile. “Were there any other matters you wanted to attend to, Inquisitor?” 

Katria exhaled through her nose to try and diffuse the tension in her muscles. “No, I don’t think so, Josie. Thank you.” She stepped back and glanced at Leliana. "Keep me updated on your scouts’ progress.” Her eyes fell to Cullen, scrutinizing him, but she said nothing. Katria turned on her heel and left the room. 

===

Cullen spent the entire day absorbed in his work, which kept him from sitting mired in his annoyance with Katria and letting it grow. It was annoyance rather than anger now. When he’d arrived at Samson’s cell yesterday to find it empty and discovered that Katria was responsible for that, he’d been livid. He’d felt utterly out of control, and on top of that worried for her safety, and although he’d tried not to dump that frustration onto her, she had been so defensive that he quickly had no interest in anything but proving to her how stupid she’d been. 

That anger had faded when he ate alone at his desk and returned to a cold bed only to be so unsettled by his loneliness that he returned to work and didn’t sleep at all. Now, Cullen was simply irritated—he knew he was letting it fester, that it would only get worse as time passed, but she continued to act like a child and refused to speak to him, and he could certainly play that game too if that’s what she wished. 

The sun set outside his narrow windows, and Cullen lit some additional candles so he could continue writing reports. He kept working, until his door opened, and Katria appeared. The first thing he did was attempt to squelch the warm feelings he had upon noticing the long line of her slender legs—she really was quite tall—and the charming disarray of her hair as pieces fell in front of her face from her once neat braid. 

“Inquisitor,” he said, in as neutral a voice as he could manage. 

Katria said nothing and crossed his office. She reached his side of the desk and leaned on it beside where he sat. She did not look at him, instead kept her eyes ahead on the stone wall, her lips pursed. 

Cullen turned his body slightly to her in his chair. “Might I…help you with something?” 

Katria’s jaw was sticking out mulishly. “I will concede that I should have told you my plan,” she said through gritted teeth. “But it was a _good_ plan—it worked.” 

He sat back—a part of him was relieved she had come to talk to him. “It was dangerous.” 

“It was a risk worth taking because nothing else had been successful,” she said, then finally her gaze turned to him. “I would also like to point out that in terms of degrees of danger, me facing off with Corypheus or fighting a dragon ranks a little higher.” 

“I thought you’d agreed not to do things like this anymore,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “It’s exactly what happened in Haven, with Barris, you just go off alone and make incredibly risky decisions without consulting anyone else.” 

Her arms were across her chest, and she lowered them. “I was trying to help.” 

“Then help in a more practical, logical way,” he said. 

Katria snorted. “And by practical and logical you mean ‘with your permission’?” 

“Maybe.” 

She abruptly straightened and ran her hand through her hair. “Maker, Cullen, would you at least acknowledge that you are entirely too controlling? You don’t know how to delegate.” 

He furrowed his brow. “You’re our leader, I didn’t think I was supposed to delegate to _you_.” 

“But it’s the same idea,” Katria insisted. “You like to be in control, so when I act-,” 

“Recklessly?” he suggested. 

“When I act _boldly_ , it upsets you.”

Cullen reached up and rubbed his neck. “I would like to think that you value my opinion, Inquisitor. That you would seek it out in reference to something _you_ put me in charge of.” 

“I do value your opinion, of course, but I don’t have to always take your advice,” she said, collapsing back against his desk, her body slightly angled towards his now. Her leg begged to be touched, but he did not reach for her. 

“You could at least ask for it,” Cullen replied. “Or give me the common courteously of letting me know what you are doing.” He looked away from her. “I arrived in the dungeons to find Samson’s cell empty—do you know how unpleasant that was?”

She was quiet for a few moments, chewing on her lip. “I—yes, I suppose I should have thought of that,” she eventually muttered. “Like I said, I concede that I should have told you my plan.” 

Cullen leaned forward slightly in his chair, his armor clanking in the silence between them. “Why did you threaten to remove me from my post?” 

Katria winced. “Because I was mad at you,” she said, sounding guilty, “I wanted to spite you, and I figured that would hurt the most.” 

She was such a fool sometimes. Cullen finally reached out, his whole hand sliding along her leg, feeling the lean muscles coiled under his fingers. The contact made his body tremble; it had been such a short time, yet he had missed touching her so much. 

“Losing you would hurt the most, Katria.” 

Her brow rose in surprise, her lips parting, until she looked away, her face hidden in shadow. “I thought you said you didn’t know who I was anymore.” 

Cullen let his hand drop from her leg. “I…I can’t deny that the Inquisition hasn’t changed you. Changed us. A few months ago, being the Inquisitor was an idea that seemed to, I don’t know, nauseate you.” He leaned back. “Now, you’re more confident. You’ve grown.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” she asked, lifting her head. 

“It’s not,” he insisted. “It’s just…you never struck me as someone particularly cold or calculating.” 

“Really? You’ve met my sister.”

Cullen shook his head. “You’re not like her.” 

Katria stood and walked away from him, moving her hands in a frustrated gesture. “No, I am, Cullen. I’ve always known that,” she said. “You and I are different. You are inherently good—you’ve been led astray at times, but at _thirteen_ you decided to dedicate your life to helping other people.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “When I was that age, I spent my time being violent and difficult and calculating—I only got worse the older I was.”

Cullen put his palm on his desk and pushed himself up. “You’ve changed.” 

“That’s the point, Cullen,” she said, looking at him, her eyes sad. “You have always been good at your core. But do you know what I am? Cold. Bad. My instinct is to kill, steal, take advantage of people, like Kate.”

He rounded his desk. “You don’t do those things anymore.” 

“Because eventually I learned how much damage I had done—some of the Templars I got kicked out of the Order _died_ , from lyrium withdrawal, poverty…” He could see the guilt move through her body, the way her hands shook, her jaw stiffened. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I swore to myself I would not be like that. That instead I would be good, and most of the time, I succeed.”

Cullen reached for her. “Katria-,” 

She smoothly stepped away. “But then, at other times, I lose my temper and next thing I know, I’m some vicious monster searching for weakness with no concern for anyone’s feelings.” 

“That seems like an exaggeration,” he remarked, dropping his arm. 

“It’s not,” she said. “You’re lucky you left when you did.”

Cullen stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension slack as he ran his thumbs in soothing circles. She would not look at him, so he moved one hand to cup her cheek. 

“I shouldn’t have come at you so aggressively in the first place,” he said softly. “It was the same thing I did to you when you fought the dragon in Crestwood, and I’m sorry for not improving.” 

Her eyes flickered up to him for only a moment. “It’s alright,” she muttered. “I’m fairly certain communication and improvement are not entirely upward-moving processes. We stumble, then get back up, and now you know that I’m…well.” 

Cullen slid his hand back so it nestled into her hair. “Honestly, Katria, I don’t think it matters who you think you are at your ‘core,’” he said. “Your childhood is a wasteland of bad memories, and the fact that someone so kind and strong and self-aware came out of that astounds me.” 

Katria looked at him, her brow furrowed in surprise, before she swallowed thickly in the silence. 

“Would it…be alright if we hugged?” 

The side of his mouth rose in a small smile as she slowly leaned against him, burying her face against his neck and the fur in his coat. Cullen slid his hands across her back and pulled her to him as tightly as he could. He let his lips brush across the side of her head, her hair tickling his nose. She smelled faintly of lemons. 

“I didn’t expect you to come talk to me for a long time,” he remarked after a few moments. 

She sighed. “I wasn’t going to, at first. I wanted you to come to me, but I figured you’d think the same thing, and we’d be in an endless waiting game, completely isolated. You’re my…” A small laugh rumbled through her chest. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Sorry, I just really hate the word _lover_ ,” she said. “I was trying to think of something else. And you’re so much more than that, anyway. My companion. Life-partner. I suppose it will be easier if we get married. But _husband_ makes me feel a little weird and tingly.”

Cullen reflexively tightened his grip around her, thinking to himself _Maker, yes please_ because he’d be her anything, but husband would be preferable.

She squirmed in his grasp. “My point being: I came to you because I love you and…I felt lonely, and I thought you might too, and I never want you to feel lonely, so here I am.” Her warm breath fanned across his neck. “Plus, my bed’s much colder without you in it.” 

Cullen chuckled. “I can’t imagine how you would notice that,” he said. “You manage to wrap _all_ the covers around you when you sleep.”

“I am not sorry for that.” 

She lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned close to him. He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to hers. He tightened his arms around her waist and pulled her onto her toes. 

She broke away from him, her fingers trailing down his cheek. “I don’t like fighting.” 

“Neither do I,” he said. “However, our jobs do complicate such matters because you and I…often don’t see eye-to-eye on Inquisition business.” 

Katria fell back flat onto her feet. “I think I’ve led us competently so far.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” he said hastily. “There is no one I am more proud to follow, but if I had it my way—well, we simply wouldn’t spend so much money on _decorations_. Or nobles. And I’d purchase more trebuchets.” 

“Duly noted,” she said with a nod. “Less frills, more trebuchets.” Her fingers drummed against his armor. “I should let you get back to work.” 

Cullen held her when she tried to pull away. “No, wait,” he said. “Why don’t we—I mean, if you’d like, we could go to your quarters and play chess. Or eat? I realize this is around the time when-,” 

Her eyebrow rose. “Normal people have dinner?” 

“Yes,” he said. “So…would you? Like to, that is.”

She gave him a wide smile. “I would thoroughly enjoy that, I think. If you let me cheat when we play chess.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said. Her smile widened, and it was certainly her best feature, so he kissed her along the side of her face with a sigh. 

She giggled. “What are you doing?” 

He looked at her, gently touching her cheek. “I just want you to know that my anger wasn’t—I don’t have any intention of ever letting anything come between us.”

Katria grinned. “Your armor comes between us on many occasions.” 

He instinctively laughed, but it turned into more of a groan because he wanted nothing more than _nothing_ to be between them. 

“Maker, Kat…” He pulled her to him and kissed her, more fervently than before. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, gaining entrance to her mouth as she eagerly reciprocated his advances. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as she raised herself back on her toes to deepen their kiss. 

The door behind him swung open, and they separated hastily. Katria reddened and ran her finger under her lower lip. Cullen turned and saw Leliana smirking at them with a stack of reports in her arms. 

“Still arguing, I see,” she remarked as she placed them on Cullen’s desk. 

“We were—we…” Katria cleared her throat as her words faded. 

“Oh, please,” Leliana said, raising her hands. “Don’t let me interrupt.” She turned and departed with a giggle. 

Katria rubbed her face once she’d left. “Well I suppose we should have seen that coming.” 

“Probably,” Cullen replied. 

She took his hand and beamed at him. “Let’s go somewhere where there aren’t so many interruptions.” 

He gladly followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this arc was good/made sense! I should have the next chapter up relatively soon--we are, however, nearing the end, so I want to make sure I get these next parts right!


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Without the lyrium, Cullen dreamed more vividly. Usually, he was back in Kinloch Hold, suffering, wishing that after more than ten years he no longer had to relive those memories. They were typically the most potent, but sometimes he’d dream about letting down his men, Corypheus’ attack on Haven. 

Tonight, Katria was dying. 

The worst part was that what was happening was completely possible—maybe even likely. It wasn’t a nightmare where outlandish things happened that hurt the people he cared for. No, Katria fighting a darkspawn magister was the logical, inevitable conclusion to this madness. 

Cullen dreamt he was somewhere dark, scorched ground all around him, the eerie green glow and the shimmer of red lyrium illuminating the moving shadows of Katria and Corypheus. He had never seen Corypheus up close before, but he was frightening, more than twice Katria’s size, armed with powerful ancient magic while she wielded two small _daggers_. 

Cullen stood away from them on a ledge, with no sword or shield, but tried to move towards them anyway. Despite his exertions, he was frozen in place, trapped, unable to help.  
He tried to call out to her. “Katria!” 

She did not hear him and spun out of the way of Corypheus’ clawed hand. She didn’t move quickly enough and was cut across her shoulder. Katria staggered backwards, then Corypheus came at her again, cutting her deep right through her stomach. A blast of magic slammed into her, and she skidded across the ground until she was right below his feet on her back. A deep red color seeped through the cloth at her waist, a little at first, until the wound began to gush, blood pooling under her body. She looked up at him, blinking, her face pale, then her chest stopped moving, and her eyes stilled, staring vacantly past his head. A trail of blood trickled down her forehead over her eye. 

“No!” Cullen shouted, falling to his knees, anger and despair ripping through him. The next thing he saw was the darkened wood paneling of Katria’s quarters. He let out a strangled shout and shot up, clutching his heaving chest. He looked beside him, but the bed was empty. 

“Katria?” he said breathlessly. 

Cullen staggered to his feet, searching the cold, quiet room. “Katria?” 

There was no response, of course, and Cullen rushed over to his armor, hurriedly strapping it on in hopes to search the castle for her. A headache was growing with rapidity right between his eyes. Just as he laced up his last boot, the door at the bottom of the stairs flew open. He stood, letting out a breath of relief when he saw Katria’s dark, wavy hair bouncing as she climbed up the steps. 

Her eyes brightened when she saw him. “Good morning. My normal attendant, Sophie, is feeling ill today, so I fetched our breakfast. I-,” 

Cullen marched over to her, yanking the tray roughly from her hands and dropping it onto the table beside her. He slid his palms along her cheeks and pulled her close. 

“Are you okay?” he asked urgently. 

She furrowed her brow. “Yes?” she began incredulously. “I think the better question is: are _you_ okay?”

“I…” Cullen swallowed, resting his forehead against hers. His thumbs moved across her cheeks, desperate to remember every detail of her face because—because those memories might be all he had left soon. “I _can’t_ lose you.”

He felt her fingers touching his forehead and the back of his neck. “You’re very flush,” she said. “Are you dizzy? Come sit.” 

Cullen was dizzy, his heart hammering in his chest, and Katria tugged on his arm. His knees buckled underneath him, and instead he collapsed beside the table, pulling her down with him. Cullen took both her hands and rested his forehead on her shoulder. 

She squeezed his fingers reassuringly as she sat on the floor beside him. “I’m right here.” 

He breathed deeply through his nose. “But Corypheus…” 

“Isn’t here,” she said, stroking the side of his head. “Did you have a bad dream?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “Yes. And…And I can’t _stand_ that I send you out into danger, while I sit here and wait. I want to protect you.”

“You do protect me,” she insisted. “The soldiers you train have helped me on many occasions.” 

“It’s not the same.” 

Katria touched his leg. “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Cullen leaned back. “I don’t have to worry?” he began. “Corypheus might _kill_ you!”

He saw her again, the Katria from his dream, and he gave a strangled sigh. She put her hands on his neck, bringing her eyes to his. “Trust me, Cullen, I know what it’s like to see those things. But I’m here and healthy and I’m going to be okay. It’s not real.” 

“I’ve had nightmares long enough to know they’re not real,” he snapped. “But you will be in an unprecedented amount of danger and…” He made a frustrated noise. “There is nothing I can do about it!” 

“Cullen…” 

He abruptly stood, his armor jangling. Katria didn’t rise with him, just rested her elbow against the table beside her as he paced and ran his hand through his hair. 

“I should…should _go_ ,” he said. He could not think about this anymore, not when the possibility of losing her was so strong and close. 

“I’ll be here if you need me,” she said simply, pushing herself up. 

Cullen got a final look at her before more memories from his dream surged through his mind. He reached for her hand and squeezed it before clearing his throat and disappearing down the stairs. 

===

Katria was in the garden harvesting the copious amount of elfroot she’d planted just after she arrived back from the Arbor Wilds. She even had some promising stalks of royal elfroot growing that the healers were especially thankful for. 

She stood and wiped the dirt from her knees before handing off a burlap sack of herbs with a smile to one of Marianne’s assistants. From the corner of her eye, Cullen’s unmistakable gait and imposing frame were visible. He walked across the garden to the Chantry, not noticing anything else around him. 

Katria considered if it would be a good idea to follow him. Whatever dream he had that morning had deeply upset him. She wanted to give him the space he needed, if that’s what he wanted. Sadly, there was little she could do to make the reality of her situation better. It had crossed her mind frequently—of course it had. People don’t fight a powerful darkspawn magister without entertaining notions of their death. Her death just hadn’t mattered that much before a certain point. Before Cullen, before any of her friends, there had been nothing she valued, nothing to miss. 

Now, she had emotional attachments in the wake of her quest to fight some evil being who literally couldn’t die unless she successfully slayed a _dragon_. Not exactly great odds in her favor. Or even decent ones.

Part of her wondered if she should force Cullen to accept the possibility of her death. If he kept denying it could happen, and then it did happen, he’d be destroyed—wouldn’t he? That’s what had happened to her. Twenty years ago, she had thought Fredrick was some holy, invincible being; the way people thought of her now. And then he died. Because no one, not her brother, not the Herald of Andraste, could escape death, if it came for them. Shouldn’t Cullen acknowledge that? Wouldn’t it make it easier to handle if she did not survive?

Katria traversed the garden, stopping in front of the ajar door to the small Chantry. She leaned her shoulder against the stone wall. Maybe Cullen already _had_ acknowledged these possibilities. He was a logical man. Practical. Leader of her army. He must know what was at stake. 

She peeked around the doorframe and saw him crouched in front of the statue erected there. His head was bowed in deep focus. 

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

Katria steeled herself and slipped into the room. 

“A prayer for you?” she asked gently. 

Cullen’s hands dropped closer to the floor. “For those we have lost,” he said. “And those I am afraid to lose.” 

She stopped just behind him. “You’re afraid?”

He stood, his shoulders hunched. “Of course I am!” he said, the fear in his voice almost sounding like anger. “You told me of how Corypheus possessed that Gray Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?” 

“Nothing else, hopefully,” she muttered. 

Cullen turned to her, his brow creased in distress. “It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates,” he insisted. “We must draw strength wherever we can.” 

He looked past her towards the door, his eyes impossibly sad. “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again,” he said softly, then he squeezed his eyes shut. “Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.”

Katria ran her fingers with a feather-light touch along his arm. “There’s nothing to worry about,” she said, putting her palm on her chest where his coin hung. “I have luck on my side, remember?”

His short laugh was not a happy one. “That’s less comforting than I’d hoped.”

Katria leaned closer to him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Cullen was always very fierce in his affection—they saw each other so little, and he was so protective of her, he held her with every ounce of strength he had. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. 

“Whatever happens, you _will_ come back,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Katria nestled her fingers in the fur of his coat. “I certainly hope so.” 

“The thought of losing you…” He took a shaky breath. “I can’t.” 

She stood on her toes so her chin rested more fully on his shoulder as she put a hand in his hair. She had never hoped so badly that she lived through all this. Not for her, even; all she wanted was for Cullen to be happy. 

“You won’t, I promise,” she assured him, stroking his hair.

He lifted his head slightly and pressed his lips firmly against her cheek. “Forgive me, for earlier, Kat. I never meant…” 

“I understand,” she said. “Not all nightmares can be massaged or kissed away. You can’t even drink them away. I’ve tried. Sometimes I just feel…like I need to be alone.” 

“You feel that way a lot, I notice,” Cullen remarked. 

“Alone is nice,” she said, shrugging. “Of course, that’s changed since I met you. But don’t get too smug about it.” 

He gave a small smile. “I love you.” 

Katria nestled herself back against his chest, and he squeezed her tightly. If her plan had been to confront him with the possibility of her death, it had been abandoned now. Perhaps because _she_ wasn’t ready to confront it either. Not when she suddenly had things to lose.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four

Cullen was busy well into the afternoon the next day. Mostly because his day did not actually _start_ until the mid-morning when Katria finally released him from her seductive and somehow equally playful clutches. Not that he minded. He knew she was trying her best to comfort him in the face of the undeniable truth that she’d be sent out again to fight Corypheus. Cullen had always been devoted to his work, especially at the Inquisition because he was finally fighting for a good cause and for a woman he loved, but he found himself lately unable to concentrate, unable to tear himself away from savoring every last moment with Katria he might have. 

Cullen still attempted work despite these distractions. He returned to his office after being out in the barracks for a few hours evaluating their readiness for the mass influx of soldiers that would return within the week from the Arbor Wilds. From his spot on the battlements, he could see Katria standing by the sparring ring in the upper courtyard. Her boot was rested on the lower rung of the fence as she leaned casually against it. Her dark, unbound hair dipped further past her shoulders as her head tilted back in a laugh. The soldier she was talking to was practically shaking with joy from the conversation. 

Katria pushed the sleeve of her dark-blue tunic up her elbow. That shirt, with the silver embroidery, was her favorite one—the sleeves had permanent wrinkles because she was always rolling them up to try and get work done, despite the fact that Josephine insisted the clothes were for purposes of presentation and prestige around Skyhold. Her pale arms glowed in the sunlight, but his eyes were drawn to the faint green glow seeping between her fingers even though her hand was clenched into a fist. 

The next thing Cullen saw was that green shade pouring over him, filling his vision. A loud rumble from the sky rolled down his spine. He spun on his heel and craned his neck up. 

Thick, dark clouds began swirling in a circle above them before a sickening crack rang out. The green light was so bright he had to cover his eyes, but when he opened them, his heart leapt to his throat, almost suffocating him. 

The Breach was open once again. 

Cullen had time for no further thought because a shout of anguish echoed through the courtyard. He recognized that voice—that _sound_. 

“Katria!” 

Cullen dropped the reports in his hand. Before they even clattered to the floor, he had flown down the stairs to her. Katria had collapsed against the fence, then onto her knees, holding her hand to her chest. He knelt down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and using his other hand to push the hair from her face. Her eyes were scrunched together, and there was sweat across her brow.

“Kat, it’s me. I’m right here. Are you alright?” 

She stayed hunched over her hand for a few more seconds, her muscles trembling as waves of pain moved through her body. He could feel her ribs expanding under his hands as she took a few deep, shuttering breaths. 

“I’m fantastic,” she ground out. Then she lifted her head and looked up at the dark sky. “Fun’s starting up again, I see.”

Cullen squeezed her shoulders. “Katria…” 

She nodded. “Yes, yes. Severity,” she muttered. “We must get the others.” 

“Can you stand?” he asked. 

Katria pulled herself up to a straighter sitting position, then groaned. “Maybe…in a minute,” she said, panting. “The Breach…did something to my mark…” 

Cullen looked over at the soldier she’d been speaking to earlier. “Fetch the rest of the Inquisitor’s advisors,” he ordered. “Now!” 

The soldier sprinted off with a frantic nod while Cullen pulled her closer. His heart was hammering inside his chest. His fingers trembled from the effort of trying to keep himself together; Corypheus had played his last card, and this was it. This was where he lost her forever. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Cullen told her firmly. 

She reached out and clutched his hand, her slender fingers tightening across his glove. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Cullen looked up as Leliana and Josephine rushed over to them. Morrigan was walking behind them. 

“I can stand now, I think,” Katria muttered. He helped pull her to her feet, and she staggered against the fence beside her. 

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan remarked once she stopped. 

Katria straightened, her shoulders back. The mark was crackling less violently now. “He’s back in the Valley of Sacred Ashes.” 

“You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world,” Morrigan said. 

“But that’s madness!” Josephine interjected. “Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

“We’ve kicked his ass enough that he’s resorted to madness,” Katria replied.

Cullen tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you,” he said. “We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

She shook her head. “We can’t wait, which is just what Corypheus wants, I suppose.” She let out a breath. “I will gather my things and depart with my entire party within the hour.” 

“Wait—do you have what you need to defeat him?” Leliana asked. 

Morrigan smiled smugly. “I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes,” she said. “As for matching Corypheus, that is up to you, Inquisitor.” 

Katria pushed herself from the fence. “Oh, excellent. You don’t think Corypheus would give up if we just asked him nicely, do you?” 

“I think you’ll have more luck asking him with the pointy end of your dagger,” Leliana replied. 

Katria patted her on the shoulder as she passed. “Good plan.” 

Seemingly no longer encumbered by the pain from her mark, she began walking briskly up the stairs to the Great Hall. Cullen didn’t care if he looked like a love-sick puppy, he followed her.

They reached the door to her private quarters in less than a minute, despite the flurry of frantic activity around them. The Breach had people panicking. She reached for the door, and he spoke with a firm tone. 

“I’m coming with you.” 

“No,” Katria said immediately, stepping into the hallway.

“That wasn’t a question,” he said, grabbing her arm. 

She turned and looked up at him. “Well, my response was an order.” 

“I am _not_ staying behind,” Cullen said.

Katria sighed. “I am sorry, but you have to.” 

“Why?” he demanded. 

“Because it’s your job!” she exclaimed. “You are my advisor, my commander. If I die out there-,” 

Fear shot through him, and he clenched his fingers around her arm, probably too tightly. “ _Don’t_.”

Katria wriggled from his grasp and raised her hands to his face. “If Corypheus kills me before I defeat him, you and Leliana and Josephine have to be ready. Have to have a contingency plan to protect the people. You can’t do that if you come with me and die as well.” 

He leaned closer to her, his voice quiet. “Kat, I couldn’t carry on without-,” 

“You have to,” she cut in sternly. “Promise me. Cullen, you have to keep fighting and protect the rest of Thedas so that other people who are just as in love as we are can lead safe, happy lives even if I fail.” 

Cullen put his forehead against hers. “No one’s as in love as I am with you.”

“You foolish, romantic man,” she snapped, then pulled him into a hard kiss, her hands gripping his coat. Cullen held her with all his strength, then roughly pressed her against the wall. Katria leaned into him for a few moments, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, before pulling away. 

“I love you, but I have to go,” she said. 

Cullen dropped his arms, his brow creased in despair. “I can’t lose you.” 

She squeezed his hand as she made her way up to her room. “You won’t.” 

Katria stopped in front of her armor stand. She changed, piece by piece, her movements practiced, precise. He lost count of how many daggers she had on her person. 

The door flew open again and Bailey appeared.

“You’re going there, aren’t you?” she demanded. “To fight him?” 

Katria finished the last clasp of her coat. “I don’t have a choice.” 

The little girl hurried over to the bed and jumped onto it. “Hair!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. There’s no time.” 

“ _Hair_ ,” she repeated, her voice cracking a little. 

Katria stopped lacing up one of her boots with a groan. She marched over to the bed and sat in front of Bailey. 

“Maker’s balls, fine. You have _one_ minute.”

Cullen handed Katria her last boot, while Bailey got to work, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She finished, in one minute, with a triumphant smile. “Now you’ll beat Corypheus for sure!” 

Katria stood. “If only it were that easy.” 

The little girl sat up straighter on her knees. She swallowed. “Please don’t die.”

Katria turned to her and smiled softly. “Well, since you asked nicely.”

Bailey threw her arms around Katria’s neck, holding her tightly. She responded in kind, hoisting her up and then placing her on her feet on the ground. Cullen reluctantly separated from Katria after that. He gave orders to his men to prepare the castle and keep an eye out for any potential attacks Corypheus or his men might make on Skyhold. Katria went with Bailey to go fetch herbs and poultices from Marianne, then gather her entire team. 

Cullen met her again outside the portcullis—there was much more commotion now between all her traveling companions and the soldiers running around preparing their supplies. Katria was by her horse, holding onto the reins, her other marked hand clenching and unclenching against the saddle.

Cullen touched her shoulder and she turned to him. “Promise me you’ll be safe,” he said softly. 

“I promise that I will defeat him,” she replied. She turned to her horse and secured her foot in the stirrup, her hands gripping the saddle. 

Cullen felt as if someone was clenching his heart until it burst. He abruptly grabbed her arm, stopping her, so she could hear the words spilling out of him. 

“Will you marry me when this is over?” 

Katria paused, then looked at him with a sly smile. “I believe I already gave you an answer to that question, Commander.” 

He wanted more than _eventually_. He wanted a yes because she wouldn’t say that and then not come back. He stepped closer to her. “I want a better answer.” 

“Then ask at a better time,” she replied. “Like some point _after_ I get back, for instance.”

Cullen kissed her briefly, savoring the feeling of her soft lips against his. “Count on it.”

Katria hoisted herself onto her horse, then looked down at him, still grinning. He angrily and violently pushed the thought from his mind that this could be the last time he saw her smile.

“I will see you soon, my prince.” 

“Yes,” he choked out. “You will.”

Katria trotted forward on her horse, shoulders back. Dorian was beside her, and she said something with an easy smile that made him laugh. She craned her neck to look back at Cullen, giving him a small wave that he shakily returned. Her horse whined and then broke into a gallop as they passed under the portcullis. 

He watched her until she was just a gray speck on the stone path, feeling empty because surely this woman had taken his heart, his very soul, with her, like she carried his coin around her neck. And he hoped with every fiber of whatever was left of him that she returned so that he could feel whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, only three more chapters! My computer will probably weep with joy once I stop opening up the ridiculous 500+ page word document this story is on. 
> 
> Next chapter will be short like this one, but rest assured the final installments will (hopefully) be long and sturdy enough to be considered "the end." Thank ya'll for your continued support!


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five

There was much work to be done the day the Breach reopened. People were panicked, which was understandable, and it meant Cullen had many reports and letters to send and respond to. The next day, however, there was less for him to do. The bulk of his troops remained on the road, and all they could do at Skyhold was remain vigilant. 

And remaining vigilant was driving him completely insane. He slept very little that night. For the first time ever, he agreed with Katria’s complaints about the hole in his roof. As he laid in bed, he could see the black and green swirl of clouds in the sky, reminding him that while he stayed stuck here, the woman he loved was traveling to fight a darkspawn magister. 

So, Cullen spent the early morning in Leliana’s tower, hoping some word was sent about their progress. No correspondence came, and after a few hours, he had irritated Leliana so badly with his pacing, she threatened bodily harm against him if he didn’t leave. He decided to find some solitude in the garden, sitting beside the chess set there with his head rested in his hand. He looked across the courtyard, half-hoping he’d see Katria kneeling by her flower beds, dirt streaked across her cheek, her braid hanging in disarray over her shoulder. 

She wasn’t there, of course—there was only dirt and an inordinate amount of elfroot swaying in the breeze. He slumped back, tapping his fingers impatiently against the arm of his chair. 

“Would you care for a game, Commander Cullen?”

Cullen snapped his neck around and saw Katria's sister, Lady Montford, standing on the garden path, smiling at him. She was wearing a heavy, dark green cloak lined with fur and embroidered with gold thread. 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you were…” 

She gathered her skirts and settled in the seat in front of him. Her posture was perfect, from her shoulders down to her crossed ankles. “I arrived a few hours ago. Lady Montilyet and I are planning the celebrations we will hold once the Inquisitor returns from closing the Breach.” 

Cullen looked up at the sky. “You are that certain she will be victorious?”

“I am,” she said. “My sister will return. She is resilient.” 

He exhaled. “I hope you are right.” 

“I usually am, Cullen,” she replied, then she paused and folded her pale hands together. “Is it alright, if I call you Cullen?” 

He shifted awkwardly. “Well, I…I thought you were…more interested in formality.”

Lady Montford grinned. Her lips were stained a reddish color. “Are you afraid I’m encouraging too much intimacy between us?” 

“Intimacy?” he began incredulously. “I would—I would never…” 

She laughed. “Don’t look as if I’m trying to steal you away from my sister.”

“You wouldn’t succeed,” he said, with a finality he hoped ended their conversation. He wondered what excuse he could make to extract himself from their conversation. 

Lady Montford leaned back. “I’m well aware. Your affection for her is cloyingly sweet. Which is not a good thing, in case your Ferelden upbringing didn’t give you quite the education you needed.” 

“I’m well-read, I can assure you,” Cullen said stiffly. This woman wielded her words like Katria wielded her daggers. 

Lady Montford gestured to the chessboard. “Then indulge me.” 

Cullen scrutinized her, frowning, _knowing_ he could beat her at chess because he was good. Perhaps that would take her down a few pegs. 

“If you insist, Lady Montford.”

She smiled primly at him. Without even looking down, she moved her first piece. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Cullen thoroughly enjoyed not having to speak to her. That is, until she continued talking to him. 

“Have you thought about what happens after this?” 

“No,” Cullen said, sliding a piece across the board. “I have kept my focus on defeating Corypheus.” 

“That surprises me,” Lady Montford remarked. “I thought you would live life like you play chess. The best players always think three moves ahead.”

He sighed and glanced up at her. “So I assume _you_ have thought of what will happen?”

Her eyes glinted, which answered his question. “Once the Inquisition defeats this magister, there won’t be any threat looming over all of Thedas,” she said. “We will need to evolve into a strong political organization that does not use so much brute force.” 

“You think so?” 

“We can use arrows and swords to fight Corypheus, but we can’t use them to get the mages and Templars to get along,” she replied pointedly, then shrugged. “Well, we _can_. But my sister won’t want that. She detests violence.” 

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Why are you talking to me about this?” 

“The Inquisition will need a lot of diplomatic capital to achieve its goals,” she said. “And the most effective way to cultivate that influence is through marriage.” 

His brow furrowed. “It’s not the only way.” 

She took one of his bishops in a move he had hoped she wouldn’t see. “Do you intend to marry my sister?”

Cullen balked, his eyes snapping up to her. “I don’t think Katria would want me to speak to you about this.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

He rubbed his neck. “You two don’t exactly…” 

“Get along?” she suggested. “A few months ago, yes, perhaps. But we’ve made strides.” 

“Regardless, Lady Montford, it is our private business,” Cullen said, trying to sound polite, but failing miserably. 

“It is not your private business, Cullen,” she said immediately. “Katria has a noble title and is the leader of a powerful political organization. As I said, marriage is the way that influence is gained in this world. It is the business of alliance and inheritance.” Her copper eyes narrowed slightly. “And you would ask her to sacrifice all that to marry you, a Ferelden farmer from Honnleath?”

“How do you know where I’m from?” he asked, the edge in his voice evident even to him.

She just smiled. “I’ve done my research.” 

“Why?” he asked wearily. 

“As the last living member of Katria’s immediate family, I feel it my duty to learn about the man she’s become so enamored with,” she explained. “A Templar with a most interesting record of service in Kirkwall.” 

Cullen tightened his hand around the arm of his chair. “What are you implying?” 

“Oh, I don’t ever imply, Commander,” Lady Montford said. “I am simply trying to help you understand more clearly what the Inquisitor’s life will look like once she returns to Skyhold.” 

Cullen scowled. “I think that _if_ the Inquisitor wishes to get married, she will chose for herself what she wants. This conversation is pointless.” 

“I’ve upset you.” 

He moved his queen. “Lady Montford, your opinion does not matter enough for me to _be_ upset.”

She shifted in her seat, reaching up and resting her chin on a few of her fingers. “I truly had no intention to anger you. I see you have little patience for nobility. I am trying to acquaint you with the realities of Katria’s situation.” She leaned forward to make her move. “As you well know, my sister likes to ignore or obscure certain truths in favor of that glib humor of hers.” 

“And what is the point of acquainting _me_ with these truths?” Cullen asked acridly. 

“I want to help you.” 

He just snorted. 

“I do,” she insisted, her voice still even and measured. “You must know that people will be clamoring for her attention after the Breach is closed. She will attract a great number of powerful figures. The Game is the most fun when you play for the highest stakes.” 

Cullen shook his head. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“Consider this,” she said, dropping her hand to her lap. “The Inquisitor returns from closing the Breach. Lord Mantillon asks for her hand in marriage to further ally the Inquisition with the interests of Orlais. Mantillon comes from the wealthiest, most powerful family in Thedas. He could give Katria gifts you could not purchase with all the gold you make in your lifetime.” 

“Why does that matter?” Cullen demanded. “Katria isn’t-,” 

“It _matters_ because regardless of how my sister sees you, regardless of how much she loves you, Mantillon and a number of other families will be deeply offended if she chooses to marry you, a Ferelden. A commoner, no less.” 

“Why should I care what they think?” he snapped, then clenched his jaw in an attempt to reign in his temper. 

“Their support is necessary for the Inquisition to reach its goals,” she replied.

Cullen sighed impatiently. “So what did you come here to tell me? That I shouldn’t ask her to…to marry me?” 

Lady Montford raised a finger. “No. I am not saying that.” She shifted and pursed her lips. “I…recognize that my sister thinks me some cold, manipulative monster, but I have learned…” She stopped and grit her teeth. “I have learned how lonely a life playing the Game can be. I have reached out to Katria—I returned her inheritance, helped the Inquisition, and I want her to be happy. Your marriage could work to the Inquisition’s advantage. If framed the right way.” 

“I have no interest in frivolous politics,” Cullen said firmly. “Neither does Katria.” 

“Well, you two have the wrong jobs then, Commander.” 

“The Inquisition will end eventually,” he said. 

She grinned. “The world will not be a safe place when Corypheus is dead. There are still important reforms that the Inquisition can spearhead—reforms that could take years. Do you want to wait that long?” 

“As long as we’re together, it hardly matters,” he ground out. 

Lady Montford pulled a piece of parchment from her heavy cloak. “Yes, more romantic nonsense. I suppose you have no interest in the intricacies of what I will tell Orlesian noble families once the Inquisitor has promised herself to you?” 

He moved his queen further out on the board. “I have less than no interest.”

She handed him the parchment. “Then just take this.” 

Cullen wearily accepted the letter. “What is it?” 

Lady Montford studied the board. “The wealthiest jeweler in Orlais—the man’s name is Vauclain—owes me a favor. I’ve asked him to allow you to select any of his exquisite pieces for the Inquisitor. A ring, in that traditional Ferelden fashion of yours, if you’d like.” 

He shoved the letter back towards her. “I don’t need-,” 

Her hand covered his to stop him. Her fingers were cold. “You do need it. Would you rather bankrupt yourself buying something worthy of her station? Accept my generous offer. You can select anything you’d think she would like.”

“Why does it matter what sort of ring she wears?” he snapped. 

“Because your marriage, instead of being an insult to other noble families and a slight to the Trevelyan name, can represent the strength of the Inquisition. The Inquisitor, rather than seeking power from other sources, marries within her own organization to retain her political neutrality and show-off just how strong we are.” Lady Montford leaned forward. “In order to do that, the symbol of her union, what she displays for everyone to see, must have value. It must also show strength.”

Cullen had no acumen for politics to discern if she was right. It sounded logical, and it angered him. Why should Katria be tethered to this noble lifestyle when she herself wanted nothing to do with it? When _neither_ of them wanted anything to do with it? 

He crinkled the letter in his hands, his eyes surveying the tall stone walls around them. This, the whole castle, was the Inquisitor’s massive domain. He imagined that influence would only grow. He sighed. 

“Do you really think this is necessary?” 

“I think it’s just a ring, Cullen,” she said. “An exquisite piece that can symbolize your love for her, but can also make it so your marriage doesn’t cause problems for the Inquisition. You might want to marry her out of some ridiculous emotional attachment you have, but that is simply not how it’s done among nobility. Consider Lady Vivienne, the consort of Duke Ghislain, _not_ his wife. We must be conscious of what effect your decisions will have. How we can mitigate the consequences.” 

Cullen stood. “I will speak to Josephine about this matter,” he said curtly. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” she replied, standing also, soothing her hands down her skirts. 

He nodded once to her. “Good day, Lady Montford.” 

She bent over to move her queen across the board and pin him in. 

“Checkmate, Commander Cullen.” 

===

Cullen found Josephine in her office, holding fabric swatches up against the wall. She turned to him and gave a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Commander Cullen!” She turned back around and gestured to the wall. “Which color do you like better? The Inquisitor’s gown will be a dark blue, and I want to compliment that with the heraldry in the Great Hall for the celebration.” 

Cullen gave a passing glance to the swatches. “They look the same shade of blue to me.” 

Josephine huffed. “I should have assumed you would be no help.” 

He shook his head. “The Inquisitor has probably only just arrived at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Why are you planning this?” 

Her polite expression broke, her brows furrowing. “I…have nothing else to do, and doing _nothing_ simply makes me too nervous.” She quickly smiled. “What can I do for you?” 

Cullen frowned and held out Lady Montford’s piece of parchment. “I spoke to Katria’s sister.” 

“Ah, yes,” she said, turning to her desk and sitting in her plush chair. “I was afraid she would upset you. Lady Montford insisted that she be the one to approach you. I could not deny her.” 

“You’re actually on board with this?” he asked angrily. 

Josephine folded her hands together. “It’s not a bad idea, Cullen. Lady Montford was simply trying to help.” 

“She did not speak to me like she had any interest in helping,” he grumbled. 

Josephine sighed. “Yes, I am aware. I have spent a lot of time with Kate. She is a brilliant diplomat, and we are lucky to have her on our side. She and her sister are much more alike than they’d like to admit. Kate is trying to be kind, but she feels vulnerable, so she compensates for that by…” 

“Being mean?” Cullen said, thinking that was a _nice_ way of describing her behavior. 

“Yes,” she replied. “In the same way that Katria uses her humor to hide her vulnerabilities.” Josephine leaned back in her chair. “Lady Montford really does mean well.” 

He clenched his jaw. “And what of her nonsense about how problematic…a marriage to a Ferelden commoner would be? Is that true?” 

Josephine looked down at her desk and cleared her throat. “Cullen, I have done my very best to shield Katria from the complexities of the Game, but…” Her eyes rose to meet his. “It is something that has to be faced eventually. If she defeats Corypheus, she will have a tremendous opportunity through her reputation to truly make change in Thedas, but we will still need allies. We should do our best not to offend them.” She drummed her fingers together. “I, myself, have been promised to another noble man to improve my family’s station. That is how it’s done.” 

Cullen rubbed his neck and turned away from her. “I…thought this would be easier.” 

Josephine rose from her seat and grabbed the letter he’d placed on her desk. She stood in front of him and put her hand on his arm. “It will not be difficult, Cullen. I will continue to do my job as the Inquisition’s ambassador, so you do not have to worry. All we need is a ring befitting of her station. I’m sure you will select something she will very much like.” 

“It’s not even that,” he said, sighing. “When I thought about asking Katria to marry me, I had hoped…I just wanted it to be _our_ thing.” He shook his head. “I should have realized that Katria is also the _Inquisitor_ and…” 

Josephine tucked the letter in his coat and smiled at him. “And you will be just as happy with her as you would have been if she wasn’t the Inquisitor. There will just be more people at your wedding reception than you might expect, and I’ll probably spend the rest of my years here forcibly putting the Inquisitor into more gowns than she ever wants to wear.” 

Cullen grinned. “You have a very difficult job, Ambassador.” 

“But a worthwhile one,” she said. “And I am surrounded by my friends.” Josephine returned to the other side of her desk, studying the fabric swatches again with her hand on her chin. 

“At first, I thought Lady Montford should wait until later to have this conversation with you,” she added. “But I think she picked the right time.”

“Why is that?” Cullen asked. 

Josephine gestured briefly to the window. “You aren’t clomping around Skyhold worrying yourself to death about the Inquisitor anymore, are you?” 

He inhaled and looked down at the letter. “Thank you for the distraction then, I suppose.” 

She beamed. “You’re welcome, Commander. If you’re interested, I’m also still finalizing the layout of the Great Hall for-,” 

He bowed slightly with a smile. “I will see you later, Ambassador Montilyet.” 

She raised an eyebrow as he turned to leave. “Why am I not surprised?” 

===

By the early evening, Cullen was again consumed by his anxiety about Katria’s whereabouts. He berated himself every half-hour for letting her convince him that he should stay at Skyhold. Waiting around for her to return from her travels had been difficult before, but this— _this_ was near impossible. She, nor her party, had faced Corypheus before, and now they were fighting to kill him. Even though Lady Montford was confident, Cullen did not like their odds. So, he waited outside his office on the battlements, trying not to think about the letter in his pocket or the giant Breach in the sky above him. 

Cullen heard the patter of small feet and looked down to see Bailey beside him. 

“Have you heard anything?” she asked. 

“No,” he replied. 

Bailey gave a loud exhale, ruffling the white fur of her fox that was nestled in her arms.

“I’m worried.” 

“As am I.” Cullen paused and realized that was probably not too comforting. He tentatively patted the top of her head. “But—but it will be alright.” 

“You don’t know that,” she muttered. 

He shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to believe it right now.” 

Bailey transferred the fox over to his unsuspecting arms. He stammered something, but she had already turned to the battlements and leaned against them with her hands on her chin. Her eyes shined green as she looked up at the Breach. 

“It’s kind of pretty,” she said. “I wish it were purple.” 

Cullen was trying to situate the fox in his arms, but it kept squirming. 

Bailey glanced back at him. “He’s nervous. You have to pet him.” 

“I don’t pet-,” He surrendered his argument before he even finished it. With a sigh, he put his free hand on its head, stroking its fur until it settled down against his breastplate. He hoped none of his men could see him. 

“Why am _I_ the one holding your pet?” he asked. 

Bailey was looking back at the Breach. “Because you’re nervous too.”

She was right. Not that he’d admit it. “Many people are nervous.”

“I don’t think they should be. She’ll beat Corypheus,” Bailey replied. “Andraste made the right choice with Katria, I think.” 

He smiled slightly. “Did she?” 

She nodded. “Katria is brave and smart and patient and-,” 

“Bailey.” 

Cullen’s free hand shot out to silence her as his eyes rose to the Breach. The clouds around it began to darken and expand, and a low rumble rang out. A single strand of green light shot up into the gaping hole before it rippled across the sky. With a deafening crack, the Breach disappeared. 

Cullen felt his heart drop like a stone to his feet. A wave of triumphant cheers rose from all around Skyhold, making him want to smile, but the Breach being closed did not mean Katria was still _alive_. He felt his knees go weak, so he leaned against the battlements with his free hand. 

“Maker’s breath,” he said softly. “It’s over.” 

“She did it,” Bailey said in disbelief beside him, after breaking from her stunned silence. “Do you…do you think she’s alive?” 

“I don’t know,” Cullen replied. He pushed himself up. “But I have—there are many things I can do now. And then I will wait in the tower for their message.”

“Me too,” Bailey said, with her lips set in a pout that told him she could not be negotiated with. 

Cullen handed off her fox to her and returned to his office. He circled the battlements, halving the numbers of guards on duty, but still retaining some vigilance in case of some smaller attack. He then retired to the tower with Bailey in tow. Leliana could get as mad as she wanted, but he would not leave until he knew Katria was alright. 

He sat at the table by her window, trying to regulate his breathing, while Leliana and Bailey prattled on about her fox and Leliana’s pet nugs he didn’t know she had. Their Spymaster seemed lighter, happier, as of late, which he suspected had something to do with Katria. 

It was well past midnight when a bird finally arrived in the tower with a message. Cullen reached it first, fumbling, the bird squawking in protest as he pulled the small roll of parchment from its foot. 

The note was short, but it told him everything he needed to know. 

===

_We’re all alive and healthy._

_Well, except Corypheus._

_Be home soon._

_Kat_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as usual, was much longer than I intended, but I suppose that's not a bad thing? I had an interest in acknowledging a Trevelyan character and the implications of their noble status, because it is brought up in the game a few times, and I personally think it's important!


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six

The Inquisitor was spotted approaching Skyhold two days after the Breach closed. The excitement around the castle was palpable. No one was more anxious than Cullen; not that he let that _show_. He had been wound up tighter than usual, not just because he was looking forward to seeing Katria, but because this future he had envisioned with her could suddenly be a reality. And it was not as simple and straightforward of a future as he would have liked. 

The denizens of Skyhold began gathering in the courtyard in the afternoon to greet the Inquisitor. After spending a few extra minutes ensuring his hair was properly styled, he joined Josephine and Leliana on the steps of the castle. He rested both his hands on his sword, squeezing the pommel tightly to keep himself from fidgeting. 

“Is the Inquisitor close?” he asked Leliana. 

She smiled knowingly. “I see you still eagerly await her presence.” 

“I—I’m simply…” He blushed, then growled and looked away when Leliana and Josephine both giggled. 

The swell of applause below them grew, and his neck snapped up. Katria and her party emerged from the portcullis. She led them, and Cullen saw her freeze for just a moment upon seeing the crowds of people around her. Her mouth then stretched into a smile, and she continued walking, her cloak fluttering behind her. 

Katria looked up and spotted them on the steps—her smile widened, and he could see the white of her teeth. She raised her hand and waved to him. He lifted his arm in response with a sheepish grin, and she quickened her pace. 

“How romantic,” Josephine gushed, before Leliana giggled and shushed her. 

Katria rounded the steps, turning around to acknowledge the crowd. As she reached the top of the stairs, her three advisors bowed. He heard her take in a breath, her foot sliding back slightly along the stone as she recoiled in surprise. 

When Cullen straightened, her expression had changed; her cheeks were still flushed, but she looked confident, satisfied. He could hardly believe that she was real, standing in front him, _alive_. 

Cullen took a step forward, holding out his arms to her. She launched herself into his chest, clinging to him, her fingers buried in his coat. He pulled her against him, the world melting away except for the feeling of her breath against his neck and the warmth of her body from under her tunic. His throat tightened, and he squeezed her and gave a shaky sigh, determined to hold himself together.

“You’re here,” he breathed. “You’re actually _here_.” 

She snaked her hand behind his head and stroked his hair. “I missed you too.” 

Katria leaned back and gently touched his cheek before slipping from his arms. She grinned and passed him, hugging Leliana and Josephine in turn. She then waved down at the courtyard below her, gaining her more raucous cheers. After a few moments, they hiked up the stairs to the Great Hall. 

Katria looked around at the workers hanging heavy fabric banners around the room, embroidered similarly to her cloak. 

“It looks beautiful, Josie. This will be a lovely celebration. Provided there are enough tiny cakes.” 

Josephine smiled slightly. “I tripled my initial order for them.” 

“That should be a good start,” Katria replied. 

Leliana nudged her shoulder. “Now that Corypheus has been defeated, we have a moment to stop and celebrate.”

“Two moments to celebrate!” Josephine interjected. 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Two?” 

She nodded enthusiastically. “This evening we’re holding a small soiree for the members of the Inquisition. But I have already sent out invitations for the massive celebration we’ll be hosting next week! All of our noble allies will be in attendance, of course.” 

“Afterwards you will be busy,” Leliana added. “Every noble in southern Thedas is clamoring to meet you.” 

“The fighting’s over,” Katria said, shaking her head. “Why do they want to meet me _now_?” 

Leliana chuckled. “You’re joking, yes?” 

“Almost always,” she replied. “But not this time.” 

The Spymaster gestured to the room around them. “They wish to bask in the glory of your victory, hoping that some of it will rub off on them,” she said. “Everyone knows Empress Celene owes you her life. And her throne. A thousand problems remain, and your opinion will be sought on each one—whether you wish to give it or not.” 

“Now I’m starting to the think defeating Corypheus was the easy part of being the Inquisitor,” Katria muttered. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” 

“Previously, you were an upstart leading rebels and heretics,” Leliana said. “Until Corypheus revealed himself, they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. Now _you_ are the only power left standing.”

Katria sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Left standing in a dress, I assume?” 

“Not tonight,” Josephine told her. “Although next week, you _will_ be wearing an exquisite gown. You’ll love it.” 

“I doubt that,” she replied. “But if _I_ have to wear a dress, what does Cullen have to wear?” 

He stiffened. “Armor is appropriate for all occasions.”

“Oh, I have something for him,” Josephine said with a cheery smile. “I’ll forcibly put him into it if I have to.” 

Katria wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ll volunteer for that job.” 

All three of them giggled, and Cullen wondered what he had done to deserve such a degree of teasing. Katria reached over and patted his arm reassuringly. He noticed a bandage peeking out from under her shirt. 

“What happened?” Cullen asked. 

She pulled back her sleeve to reveal gauze wrapped well along the length of her arm. Blotches of red were beginning to break through. “Oh, well, I was fighting this darkspawn magister earlier and-,” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you _always_ have to be such a smartass?”

“Yes?” 

Cullen gestured to her arm. “You should have Marianne tend to your wound.” 

Katria looked down at herself. “That, and I need a bath.” 

“I had one drawn for you,” Josephine remarked. “I’ve also laid out your outfit for the party this evening. I will send Marianne to your quarters.”

Katria patted her shoulder as she passed her. “You’re a life-saver, Josie.” 

“I believe that title belongs to you, Inquisitor,” she replied. “I’m just the Ambassador.” 

Cullen shifted awkwardly on his feet. After a few more steps, Katria turned around and met his gaze, telling him silently to follow her with the tilt of her head. 

“Excuse me,” he blurted out to Leliana and Josephine, as he slipped between them and hurried after her. Katria grabbed his hand once they crossed the hall and pulled him through the door. She was fairly insistent as she dragged him along, keeping him from stopping them and kissing her before they climbed the stairs to her room. 

Katria finally halted at the top of the steps. Before she even turned all the way around, Cullen cupped her face in his hands and captured her mouth in his. He reveled for a moment in the feeling of her soft lips—he had spent so long worrying he’d never feel them again. 

Cullen lowered his arms to her waist and pulled her as close as his armor would allow. She sighed into their kiss before pushing herself onto her toes and running her tongue along his lower lip. He tilted his head and began stumbling backwards, closer to the bed. He didn’t make it two steps before she sucked in a ragged breath and pulled away from him, clutching her arm. 

He blinked a few times and then looked down. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Your armor is just pointy in some places. It scraped the bandage.” 

Cullen reached out and gently pulled back her sleeve further. His eyes widened when he realized the wound was dressed all the way up to her elbow. “Kat…” 

“What?” she began, bringing her arm to her chest. “You thought I’d get off scot-free fighting a darkspawn magister?” 

“No,” he said. “But we should not have been—you should not have let me kiss you like that when your arm needs attention.” 

Katria shrugged. “I rather liked what we were doing.” 

He touched the scar on her cheek. “So did I, but there will be plenty of time for that later.” 

She beamed at him. “If you say so.” 

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, and Marianne appeared with her bag. 

“Sit,” she said. “Let me see.” 

Katria perched herself on the bed, and Cullen sat beside her. She rolled her sleeve to the elbow, and Marianne began carefully unraveling the bandages. 

“Hello to you, too, Marianne,” Katria remarked. 

Marianne smirked. “I’m sorry; am I supposed to be gushing with surprise because you have returned to Skyhold?” 

“Well, I _did_ fight a darkspawn magister.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Just like you fought a dragon, that white wyvern, those Venatori—you always come back, and there’s always something for me to bandage up.” 

Marianne pulled away the gauze, and Cullen inhaled at the sight of the deep gash that went from her wrist to the bend in her elbow. The cut was not even—it veered off sharply to the left at her wrist and onto her hand.

“You’re lucky your arm is intact,” Marianne said, inspecting the wound. 

“There was…some flesh hanging that was reattached. Dorian did what he could,” she replied. “I know it will scar. It’ll just join the list with the others.”

Marianne rummaged through her bag and handed her some potions. “Take these. The very best for our Inquisitor.” 

Cullen helped her pry off the lids as Marianne rubbed a salve into her arm. 

“Is there anything the Inquisitor needs to do to ensure her full recovery?” he asked. 

Marianne gave a sharp laugh. “As if she’d listen to me.” She lifted her head to him. “Although I suppose _you_ could be more persuasive. Our dear Inquisitor just needs to avoid dagger-wielding and other vigorous activities with her arm.” 

Katria gave a dramatic sigh as Marianne secured the last of the fresh bandages on her arm. The healer stood, double-checking her work before nodding. “Any other injuries?” 

“I’ve had entirely too little cake today—does that count as an injury?” 

Marianne smiled slightly and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Not the kind I can fix.” 

“Well then thank you,” Katria said. She touched Cullen’s knee with her good hand. “For everything. You’ve saved my life many times, and Cullen’s life too, and I do so enjoy his company on occasion. I owe you.”

Marianne had already turned for the stairs. She stopped and cleared her throat. “You do not owe me anything,” she said. 

Her eyes flickered over before she faced Katria completely. “Don’t get any ideas or anything but-,” She shifted and looked down. “When my husband died at the Conclave, I…thought it was the end of everything. My happiness, certainly, but more importantly, I never thought I’d be able to console Bailey. I feared she’d never recover or feel joy again.” 

Katria stood and stepped closer. Marianne looked at her. 

“Then she met you. And you were kind to her when you didn’t have to be. You’re not her father, but you are her family. Our family. So thank you.” 

Katria grinned. “I think we should hug now.”

Marianne lifted her hand. “I’m not sure that’s necessary; I don’t want things to get _too_ emotional. You’ll be doing plenty of that later.” She gave a soft smile instead and nodded to them both. “I’ll see you at the party.”

Marianne departed, but Katria still stood away from Cullen. He saw her reach up and drag her finger over her eye. He reached over and grabbed her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. 

Katria wriggled from her grasp with a grunt. “Don’t—I’m not _crying_.” 

“Of course not.” 

She turned to him with a huff. “Fine. I might have been. But it’s only because I’m having to look at you in that armor.” 

He smiled slightly and stood. “I can do something about that.” 

Katria sat back on the bed, rubbing her arms with her palms. She let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped just as Cullen turned to the couch beside her bed. He began taking off his armor, piece by piece. He had just pulled his breastplate over his head, when he realized she hadn’t spoken at all. 

Cullen glanced over at Katria—her back was to him, and she was hunched over into her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. 

“Kat?” He dropped his gloves onto the couch when she did not reply. Cullen circled the bed and knelt down in front of her, his heart clenching at the tears breaking through between her fingers. “Katria…” 

Her hand shot out and touched his shoulder, pushing him roughly away before she let out a little sob and squeezed her fingers around his shirt. She furiously rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m…” 

Cullen slid his hands around her waist. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured. He scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She nestled her head against his neck and cried there, while he hoped he was being comforting enough. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice heavy. “I’m—I just…It’s over. After all this time. I-I’m so _exhausted_. And I almost…almost didn’t…” 

“Didn’t what?” he whispered. 

“I almost didn’t come back,” she replied, clenching her hands in his shirt. 

Cullen held her more tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, reminding himself over and over that she was real, here, alive. He slid his fingers under her tunic to feel her warm skin. “You did come back, Katria.” 

She sniffled. “We were on these giant floating slabs at the Temple—which sounds ridiculous, but everything that’s happened to us is ridiculous. I tried to get in close to Corypheus, and he knocked me back. I went rolling off the edge of the rock, my daggers falling behind me, and I was just _hanging_ there by my bad arm…” 

Cullen exhaled. He wanted Katria to say what she needed to, of course, but hearing about these brushes with death forced him to think about how close he’d been to losing the single most important thing in his life. 

"I...I thought it was over," she said. "That I had failed. It hurt so much and..." She dug her nails into his back in response to the new flood of tears running down her face. "I am going to sound like such a romantic _idiot_ when I say this..." 

"I promise I won't tell anyone," he said against her neck. 

"I thought of you," she whispered, after a few moments of silence. "I love you. All I wanted was to return to our home so we could be together." 

Cullen tightened his hold on her to keep his hands from shaking. In the heavy silence that followed, he breathed evenly through his nose, trying to prevent the swell of emotion in his chest from spilling over. He never thought--never _dreamed_ someone could care for him like that. He cleared his throat. 

"I love you, too." 

Katria moved her fingers to his hair. “Needless to say, I pulled myself up and killed the son of a bitch, but…but thinking about it now a-and everything else, it’s very overwhelming. I feel…I feel a lot.” She mussed the hair at the back of his head. “And I make no sense, do I? This was the first moment I’ve had to really process…what we did, and I’m over-processing.” 

“You just need to relax, Kat,” he said gently, rubbing her back with one hand.

“I need to stop crying and being a pathetic, sniveling child.” 

She tried to slip from his grasp, but he stopped her. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Katria leaned back and used the heel of her palm to wipe her eyes—they looked a brighter shade of blue from her tears. He tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. 

She yawned, raising her hand to her mouth. “Crying is nothing to be ashamed of, but I would like to finish it all here, as opposed to at my party this evening,” she said. 

“That’s understandable.” 

Katria touched the wet spot on his shirt. “Sorry,” she muttered. 

Cullen kissed her from her cheekbone to her jaw. “I love you.” He could not say it enough. 

She whimpered. “Quit it— I’ve only _just_ stopped the giant faucets behind my eyes. Don’t get them started up again with that smoldering voice of yours.” 

“So I should save my romantic confessions for when you’re more emotionally stable?” he asked, grinning. 

Katria lifted her arms and crinkled her nose. “Or wait until I’ve bathed at least.” She furrowed her brow. “Plus, what sort of confessions are we talking about? I already know you love me.” 

“Oh, well…” Cullen slid his palm along her thigh. The confession he was thinking of had more to do with a certain kind of commitment, but she was right—it could wait. He kissed her cheek and stood. “How about I prepare your bath for you?” 

Katria flopped back against her bed with a sigh. “If you want. Josie has these weird bath salts she likes me to use for special occasions. I prefer the lemon or lilac ones.” 

Cullen stepped into the small area that held her tub—the room was partially filled with steam from the hot water inside it. He found a small wooden box filled with strongly-smelling salts. He had no idea what to do with them, so he dumped them all in, and they crackled in the hot water. He put a towel beside the tub and then walked out into her room. 

“You should be good to-,” 

He stopped when he spotted her laying on her side away from him. Cullen crept over and saw her curled around one of the many pillows on her bed, fast asleep. He supposed that anyone would be exhausted after fighting a darkspawn magister and riding hard back home for two days. Then he wondered if he should wake her while the water was still hot. Once his hand ran along the curve of her hip, he decided to instead lay down beside her. They had plenty of hours before Josephine’s party, and he hadn’t slept well since she left.

Cullen wrangled a pillow for himself and rested his head on it. He gripped Katria’s arm and leaned forward to kiss the back of her head. 

“She’s here,” he reminded himself quietly and then drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! In addition to the next final chapter, there will be an epilogue (of sorts) as chapter fifty-eight!


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the final chapters, but damn is it a long one! 
> 
> Also, group dialogue? Not an easy thing to do, I've learned (especially when folks have been drinking!), so tell me if it sucks (or if all it sucks) because wow endings are persnickety.

Katria woke up to a voice echoing across her quarters.

“And people try and tell me that Templars have _so_ much stamina. They’re asleep before the clothes even come off.”

She rolled onto her back and sat up in bed, spotting Dorian standing by her couch draping a tunic over the arm of her chair. He was wearing some ludicrous belted leather robe draped with ivory fabric. She rubbed her eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Someone had to make sure you were actually going to come to your party,” he replied. 

Cullen stirred beside her, his hand sleepily reaching out and sliding along her leg. His eyes cracked open, and when he saw Dorian, he shot up, his face red. 

“Ah—I…” 

Dorian inspected the pair of dark leather boots laid out for her. “It’s time for you to relinquish your lady, Commander. You have to share her with the rest of Skyhold now.” 

Katria slid off the bed. “I’m not sure anyone will want to come anywhere near me if I don’t get a bath.” She looked out past the open doors of her balcony, where darkness was falling like a blanket over the courtyard. “My water’s probably cold by now.” 

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “I heated it back up for you.” 

She perked up and smiled. “Much obliged.” Katria hurried into her wash room just as Cullen was sitting up and pushing his hair down. She closed the door and peeled off her dirty clothes. She scrubbed the demon goop, dirt, and grit from her body as best she could. The hardest part was brushing all the tangles from her unbound hair. 

Katria toweled herself off and donned her robe. As she slid back into her bedroom, she saw Cullen and Dorian standing together by her couch. Cullen had put his armor back on. They were whispering frantically, until Dorian said something that made Cullen shove him lightly with one hand, like they were two brothers trying to argue in a way that kept their mother from noticing.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked with an amused expression. 

“Nothing!” Cullen blurted out, lifting his head. “Nothing.” 

She looked at Dorian for confirmation, but he only smirked and thrust a set of clothes into her arms. She looked down with a groan. Her selected shirt seemed quite ornate. 

Katria shuffled behind her paneled partition, untying her robe and sliding on the soft leather leggings first. As she laced them up, she craned her head backwards. 

“Maker, Dorian, why are these pants so tight?” 

“I think you mean why do these pants _fit_ ,” he replied. “Josephine wanted you to wear trousers that didn’t barbarically sag.”

Katria rolled her eyes at Dorian’s claim that bad fashion was somehow barbaric. She wiggled into the long, dark green tunic.

“Why is there so much damn fabric on the sleeves?” she asked incredulously, shaking her arm. The ends of the tunic were embroidered with thick panels of gold thread, along with the wide neckline and bottom of the shirt. 

“You are wearing a shirt and pants, my dear,” Dorian said. “It will be much worse next week.” 

Katria belted her shirt at the waist and walked over to them. She sighed. “Don’t remind me.” 

The door flew open below them, and another visitor clamored up the stairs. Bailey beamed at her when she appeared. The little girl had been waiting outside Skyhold when they arrived from defeating Corypheus, clinging to Katria the minute she appeared and not letting go until they were in the courtyard. 

“You look pretty,” she said as she galloped over to the bed and hurled herself into it. 

“Thank you,” Katria said, and then she sat in her customary spot for having her hair braided, thanking the Maker greatly for something so familiar, yet so simple. “Dorian selected my outfit for me.” 

She frowned slightly. “Oh. Well, decent job, Tevinter.”

Dorian smirked. “Don’t spoil her look when you do her hair, child.” 

Bailey stuck out her tongue at him, but was particularly careful with her braid afterwards, so much so her fox gave a low whine and butted its head against her leg because it had spent too long not getting attention. She placated it with a few pats and then tied off her hair. 

“Ready?” Dorian asked. “We don’t want to keep Josie waiting. She’s wound up enough as it is.” 

Katria felt her heart thump a little more quickly in her chest. She normally liked parties—or at least the cake that was served at parties, but this particular soiree was celebrating her contribution to saving the world. It cemented her place in the history books, and even after a year, she was still not completely comfortable with the scrutiny. She gave a nod and a smile and followed Dorian and Bailey down the stairs. 

They reached the hallway separating her quarters from the Great Hall, and Cullen put his hand between her shoulder blades. 

“You do look lovely,” he said softly. 

She gave a small laugh. “You don’t have to flatter me, Cullen,” she said. “You’ve already wooed me into your armored clutches.” 

He leaned closer to her. “But what if I _want_ to flatter you?”

Katria’s mouth stretched in a smile before she stopped and put her hand on his coat. She kissed him, and his fingers fluttered down to the small of her back. 

Bailey crinkled her nose. “Ewww.”

“This tiny adult is right,” Dorian said, pointing down at her. “ _Ew_.”

Katria separated from him, still grinning. 

“Isn’t there some party or something you should be going to?” Cullen asked them.

“Still not content to share your lady, I see,” Dorian remarked with a raised eyebrow. He grabbed Bailey’s shoulder and steered her through the door. “Come along, child. Some of us have a party to get to.” 

Once the door shut, Cullen slid his arms around her waist and gave a deep sigh. He rested his forehead against hers, his lips curling into a languid smile. 

“Am I imagining it, or do we have a moment to breath?” 

“We have a moment,” she said, carding her fingers through the fur on his coat. She leaned into him. “Of course, when I get my hands on you later, you might be out of breath again.” 

Cullen kissed her, much too deeply to be appropriate for where they were supposed to be. She giggled and pushed him away, giving him a plaintive look. 

“What?” he began, squeezing her. “You can’t say _that_ and not expect me to do anything, even when you’re about to be presented to the rest of the Inquisition at your own party.” 

“It’s not _my_ party,” she said. “We’re celebrating everyone.” 

“You brought us here,” Cullen said. “You are proof that the Inquisition made a difference. That we will continue to do so.”

She put a hand against his cheek. “Our soldiers put their trust in _you_ , Cullen. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

He shook his head. “I should be thanking you.” 

“For the way my humor put you at ease at the most appropriate of moments?” 

Cullen gave her a look of playful annoyance, then his face softened, his brow wrinkling.

“You gave me a chance…to prove myself,” he said. “In your place, I’m not sure I would have done the same.” 

“Cullen, I knew all along you were going to succeed,” she said. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. Truly.” 

He groaned and linked his arms together behind her. “Kat, let me take you back to your quarters. Just for a few more hours.” 

She didn’t reply because she _wanted_ to say yes, but _should_ say no and that conflict just made her close the space between them with a kiss, her fingers scraping along the stubble on his jaw. He nibbled on her lower lip, making her knees go weak and her need for him grow exponentially. She pressed herself against his chest, and his hands clenched the fabric of her fancy shirt, wrinkling it, until the door beside her rattled open. 

“Oh, for Andraste’s _sake_!”

Katria pulled away from Cullen, her lips flushed, before she felt a hand grab her elbow and bodily wrench her from his arms. She squawked and staggered behind Josephine, who was dragging her towards the door. 

“Bye, Cullen!” she called back fleetingly as he stayed in the hallway with a stunned expression. 

“Sorry, Josie,” Katria said sheepishly once they burst into the Great Hall. The party was in full-swing already—the room was saturated with smells of roast meat, sugar, and ale. 

Josephine soothed the stray strands of Katria’s hair down from her braid. “It is alright, Inquisitor. You just need to be here for _your_ party. You will have many, many years to love on Commander Cullen.” 

Katria blushed, then looked across the room at the massive _tower_ of tiny cakes glistening on one of the tables. “Cullen who?” she said, as she made a beeline for the desserts. 

She looked back at a smirking Josephine and waved. “Thanks, Josie!” 

Katria reached the table and picked up a plate, greedily piling the delectable treats onto it. She had just put one in her mouth when Dorian appeared with two glasses. He handed her one. 

She sniffed it. “Aqua Magus. You have expensive taste.”

“I’m worth it,” he said with a smile. 

Katria clinked glasses with him. “You’re a true hero.” 

“ _Other_ people think that about me, too,” he remarked, leaning beside her on the table. “I was passing through the hall this morning, and a servant girl saw me and squealed. Actually squealed. Dropped her laundry and everything. Such a mess. She was completely breathless.” 

She put another cake in her mouth and swallowed it before she spoke. “I suppose your good looks have that sort of effect on people.” 

Dorian shook his head. “Then, the girl says, ‘you were at the battle with the Evil One, weren’t you?’ I didn’t even get a chance to answer. She hugged me. _Hugged_ me,” he said, then he pointed at her. “This is your influence.”

“You’re welcome.” 

He gave a small laugh. “I can’t say I hate the notion of being ‘the good Tevinter’.” 

“Morally good and good looking is a dangerous combination,” she said. 

“People like me now for it,” Dorian replied. “I suppose you can’t all be evil bastards—the blacksmith said that, and he _spat_ when we first met.” He grinned. “I hope my father hears. He will shit his smallclothes from shock, I swear.”

Katria drained her glass and placed it on the table beside her. “You’re so popular, I don’t see why you’d ever want to leave.” 

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “I have actually decided to stay with the Inquisition,” he said. “For now.” 

Her brow rose. “You will?” 

He shrugged. “Tevinter lacks the presence of my best and only friend. It’ll keep.” 

“You and Blackwall have gotten that close?” she asked, smirking. 

Dorian snorted. “I was talking about _you_.”

“Ah, of course,” she said, scooting over so their shoulders were touching as they leaned against the table. Katria watched the others at the party, drinking and laughing, no veiled worry on their faces like during months past. “So, this is the part in the conversation where I share some heart-felt, emotional confession about how much you mean to me.” 

Dorian looked at his empty glass. “Well, I need a refill.” 

Katria patted him on the shoulder. “Good talk.” 

She squeezed his hand tightly just before he left, and he smiled back at her, before being cajoled by Bull into coming over to him across the room. Katria pushed herself from the table after refilling her plate. 

A heavy weight suddenly slammed into her back, a pair of wiry legs wrapping around her waist. 

“Fuck!” Katria staggered forward, shielding her cakes from falling to the ground. 

“Hey, you!” Sera exclaimed. The elf had leapt onto her back. 

Katria straightened, using one hand to anchor Sera’s leg. “Excuse me if I don’t greet you the same way.”

Sera hooked her arm around her neck. “We finally got a party! Bit of fun for saving the world.” 

She chuckled. “I thought you were always having fun.” 

“Yeah, but now there’s food.” 

“Stick around,” Katria said. “There will probably be lots of food at these subsequent banquets Josie keeps planning.”

“Really?” Sera began. “Still some things to do yet, right? Because I’m in no hurry to get back to…Val Royeaux, that’s where I was.” She shifted on Katria’s back and cleared her throat. “You mind if people still stay around? For whatever?”

Katria stopped walking. “Get down, Sera.”

The elf climbed down and stood in front of her, looking a little nervous. 

Katria put her hand on her shoulder. “This is your home, if you’ll have it.” 

Sera swatted her hand away. “Shut it, you,” she said, then swung her tankard around. “I cry, I’m punching everyone!” 

She backed away with a laugh. “Okay, okay. My only point was, thank you for your help.” 

Sera beamed at her and skipped away. “Big frigging heroes, Inquisitor. All of us.” 

Katria exhaled, something she did every time the tornado of energy that was Sera left her. She collapsed in a chair and ate a few more cakes. 

Varric was sitting at the head of the table, smirking at her. She peered over at him and saw some parchment in front of him. 

“Notes for your next novel?” 

“Yes. I’ve been starting to think about putting this all into a book,” he said, then raised his hands dramatically. “I’m thinking, _This Shit Is Weird: The Inquisitor Trevelyan Story_. It’s a working title.”

Katria snorted. “Maybe you should keep working.” 

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll leave the title for last. Naming things is always the worst.” Varric stretched back and laced his fingers behind his head. “I still haven’t decided if I should do this book. As if anyone would believe this story if I tell it.”

“I am so funny it is hard to believe at times, I know.” 

He winked. “I’ll be sure to include that. And the juicier bits.” 

Katria laughed. “If you value your life, you’ll leave Cullen out of your book.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he said, grinning. “In fact, I was going to ask you to describe his musculature for me. You know, for the steamy scenes my Orlesian readers like so much.”

Katria gasped. “You aren’t going to write about that, are you? I thought your _Swords and Shields_ days were over!”

“I’m just kidding,” Varric told her, then looked down at his parchment and scratched something out. “Maybe,” he muttered under his breath.

Katria shook her head and smiled. “You know, the Inquisition could still use you here.” 

He looked up at her. “That’s generous of you, but its past time that I went back and took care of things in Kirkwall,” he said, then smirked. “I’m not leaving for a while yet, though. We’ll have to get in at least one game of Wicked Grace before I go. Curly needs to win back some of his dignity.”

“I fully support any game where the end result is Cullen not having clothes on.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he said, scribbling on his paper, which made Katria groan. She took a sip of the glass she’d refilled, until she heard something breathing behind her. 

“Hi, Cole.” 

Varric looked up. “Come on, Kid, sit down. You’re more human now. You gotta _talk_ to people when you approach them. Not just stand weirdly.” 

Katria scooted over on the bench so he could sit. 

“They’re all happy,” Cole said, looking around. “There’s still fear, but you helped them all. You healed what was hurt.” His icy blue eyes turned to her. “They don’t want to forget what happened, even if it gives them nightmares. It would hurt less, but it matters.”

Katria sighed. “There are a few parts I wouldn’t mind forgetting.” 

“All right.” 

She recoiled, lifting her hand. “Cole, wait!”

He gave a small laugh. “It was a joke,” he said. “You like those sometimes, to make the fear seem smaller.” 

Katria’s mouth dropped open a little, and she lowered her hand. “I…” The intensity of feeling that hit her was surprising. It felt odd to be so thoroughly known by—by her _friends_. 

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Cole said. 

Katria reached out and grabbed his cold hand. She thought of the expression on his face when he came to her in the forest all those months ago, how earnest he had been to help her. How he’d known what she needed. 

“Thank you for bringing me back,” she replied softly. 

He smiled airily at her, then turned his head, distracted by the sight of Bailey’s fox pawing at the foot of the table, begging for scraps. “I like foxes,” he remarked. 

Katria patted his back and stood. She refilled her plate with more cakes and spotted Leliana leaning against the wall by her throne, obscured by shadows and the massive drapes that ran from the ceiling to the floor beside her. 

“You know you don’t have to be a spy _all_ the time,” Katria remarked, flopping beside her against the wall. “People will start to think we’re weird.” 

Leliana smiled slightly. “I’m afraid they already feel that way.” She glanced over at the pile of cakes on her plate. “Enjoying the refreshments?” 

Katria nodded enthusiastically. Leliana reached over for one, but Katria slapped her hand. 

She laughed. “You’re going to eat all of those? You’ll make yourself sick!” 

“Oh I hope so,” Katria said, popping one into her mouth. She chewed on it thoughtfully then thrust the plate towards her. “But fine. Here,” she said. “This is the truest sign of friendship I can offer. Sharing my food.”

Leliana selected a raspberry flavored one. “I am honored, Inquisitor.” 

Katria sighed and leaned further against the wall, watching her friends clustered together, wondering if this sort of gathering would ever happen again. 

“Everything alright?” Leliana asked. 

She shrugged. “I…I was just thinking that everyone will…scatter after this. It won’t ever be the same once they go their separate ways.” 

Leliana nodded. “You are right, but they do not stop being your friends simply because there’s more distance between you.” She smiled slightly. “Plus, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Katria turned, her shoulder against the wall. “Really? Even after what happened in Valence?” 

“Valence _was_ something of a rebirth for me,” she said. “But I won’t give up my post. Not when we’ve come this far. I just know how to use my power wisely now.” 

“Good,” Katria said. “I need you. Leliana, my friend, not the scary spy.” 

She smiled. “You are right, of course,” she said. “I have to stay true to who I really am—before a spymaster, left hand, or bard.”

Katria held out her dish and Leliana took another cake. “And who is it that you truly are?” she asked. 

Leliana glanced out the large windows behind her throne. “I love to sing, tell stories.”

“Shoes,” Katria added. 

She chuckled. “Always shoes.” 

Katria pushed herself from the wall, ruffling the curtains beside her. “I’d love to swap stories with you sometime.” She glanced over and saw Cassandra standing near them, hands clasped behind her back, fidgeting awkwardly. 

“Maker, does our Lady Seeker even know _how_ to have fun?” 

“She and Cullen both wore their armor here,” Leliana remarked. “They look like they’d rather be anywhere else.” She paused. “Well, I’m sure you know where Cullen would like to be.” 

“Do you think everyone will get tired of teasing me about him eventually?” Katria asked. 

“Probably not.” 

Katria snorted, offering one final cake before crossing the room to Cassandra and mimicking her rigid pose. 

“Is this what Seekers do for fun?” 

“I will have you know I had a drink,” she said. “And a conversation, too.” 

“Wow,” Katria deadpanned. “You’re really branching out now that we’ve saved the world.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s over. It seemed an impossible task: defy the Chantry, build the Inquisition from nothing, defeat a creature that would be a god. And yet here we are, celebrating.” 

“Well, _I’m_ celebrating,” Katria said. “I think you need a few more drinks before you start.” 

She tightened her hands together behind her back. “There has been…something else occupying my thoughts. I have news from the sequester.” She raised her head. “I believe the Chantry intends to name me Divine very soon.” 

Katria recoiled slightly in surprise. “Well, shit—I mean, _wow_ , Cass. That’s…”

“It would not have been possible without your support and friendship,” she said. “It means a great deal to me.” 

Katria tightened her grip around her plate. “You’ve been with me from the start,” she said. “You were at my side every time I left Skyhold. It means a great deal to me as well. I hope we’ll remain friends once you’re Divine? I know I’m not the most devout of people, but I’d follow you anywhere.” 

She smiled slightly. “That would please me greatly. I think back to how we first met…and here you stand.”

“It’s been quite the improvement,” Katria said, nodding. “You’re not pointing your sword in my face any longer.”

“You are my friend, even,” she said. “How did that happen, I wonder?” 

Katria shrugged. “I wore you down. My jokes endeared the anger right out of you.” 

Cassandra grinned. “Well, I’m pleased it did. You are a great woman, and I will always stand at your side.” 

“Well, you have to stand in front of me for now, so I can properly hug you.” 

Katria pulled the Seeker into a tight embrace. “We’re getting better at this, I feel.” 

“And I thought fighting Corypheus was the weirdest thing that happened today,” a voice behind them remarked. 

Katria turned and smirked at Varric, while Cassandra gave a disgusted grunt. The dwarf motioned them down the stairs. “Come on, we’re telling the story.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “The story?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah—you remember defeating that darkspawn magister earlier? Weird, bird-looking guy with red lyrium growing out of him?” 

“I vaguely recall it, yes.” 

Varric snorted. “Well, we’re all telling the official story, and you’ve got to narrate the part where you turned Corypheus to ash.” 

Katria linked her arm with Cassandra’s and dragged her across the room. 

“Can I embellish?”

“Of course.” 

They all sat around one of the long tables in the Great Hall for the next few hours, passing drinks around and each telling their tale about what transpired at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cullen was there, engaged in the story, but also slowly migrating so that he’d get to sit next to Katria. 

That did not _exactly_ occur. To Cullen’s chagrin, Bailey ended up between them, with her fox, of course, so he had to settle for resting his arm along the top of the little girl’s chair, so his fingers just brushed Katria’s shoulders when she moved a certain way. 

Some of her dear party members could _not_ hold their liquor, Sera specifically, and the conversation eventually devolved into how Varric was going to write their defeat of Corypheus into his story. 

Varric raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright,” he said, swaying slightly. “You know what I need? Like—like what they’ll put on the back cover to rope people in. I’m thinking…” He paused and looked down, like the idea had popped right out of his head and onto the floor. “I’m _thinking_ something like: Inquisitor Trevelyan—smart, brave, strong, but can she defeat the ultimate evil?” 

Sera made a loud vomiting noise. “Blech! That’s rubbish!” 

Bull rested his hand on the table. “Here, here’s one. Read this book: there are dragons and lots of sex.”

“No, no, I just need _words_ ,” Varric said. 

Katria gave him a bemused look. “Those are required for writing, I’ve heard.” 

He took a sip of his ale. “I need words to describe our fearless leader-,” He gestured vaguely across the table to her. “Like so people see the hero, but also the person. It’s called character…” He hiccupped. “Character something.” 

“Cullen will have some ideas,” Dorian interjected, turning to him. “Tell us words about our Inquisitor.” 

Cullen froze, a red hue creeping up his already flushed cheeks. “I—I don’t…” 

“What’s the matter, Curly?” Varric asked. “Cat got your tongue?” 

He smirked. “On occasion.” 

A roar of laughter erupted from the table, but Katria only sat stunned at his wit. 

Bailey covered her ears. “Ew!” 

“How do you even know what he’s talking about?” Katria asked incredulously. 

The little girl rolled her eyes. “Because I know what kissing is, duh!” 

Katria patted her shoulder. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” She imagined the drunker Bull got, the less he’d filter his language and his more colorful stories. Bailey huffed and slid off the bench, grabbing a handful of cakes before she and her fox scurried from the room. 

Cullen’s face brightened when he noticed the empty space between them. He put his hand on the table and looked ready to slide over, when Sera, who had stood to get more ale, plopped clumsily between them. 

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, and Katria giggled. 

“Come on, Cully-Wully,” Sera crooned, pushing his shoulder. “Give us the words for your lady.” 

“I don’t have-,” He stopped and rubbed his neck. “Oh, Maker, I don’t know. Funny.” 

Dorian let out a bark of laughter. “ _That_ is the answer of a man who wants to get Katria Trevelyan into his bed tonight.” 

“But I _am_ funny!” she sputtered in protest, when they all snickered. Although Dorian was right—that certainly _was_ the answer that appeased her ego the most. 

Cullen smiled sheepishly. “Well, I don’t know what kind of words you want!” 

“The good ones,” Varric said like the answer was obvious. 

“But don’t say _beautiful_ or _lovely_ because that would just be annoying,” Sera said. 

“I wasn’t going to-,” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I mean, I was. O-Or, she _is_.”

Katria drained her drink and slammed it onto the table. “Maker, why am I the topic of conversation right now? Haven’t we all heard enough about the Herald of Andraste?”

“Not nearly,” Dorian replied, smirking. 

“Unbreakable.” 

Everyone swiveled their heads to look at Cullen. He blushed. “Well, you asked for a good word! That’s what she is. Unbreakable.” 

Sera threw her hands up. “Ugh! You had to go all _romantic_ on us, didn’t you?” 

“I think it’s wonderful!” Cassandra exclaimed from the end of the table. She was also one of the folks who could not hold their ale.

But it _was_ wonderful—truly wonderful how this sweet man could say things that made her insides feel like mush and made her fingers tingle, and he’d said it in front of so many of their friends, which made her blush, but also made her think _he_ might have had too much to drink also.

Katria decided that to prevent him from getting anymore talkative, she’d gather him up and retire to her quarters, not even caring about the teasing she’d get for it. She looked over and beamed at him before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to find Kate staring down at her. Her smile faded. “What’re—you’re here?”

“I am a part of the Inquisition,” Kate replied. “Of course I’m here.” 

Katria gestured around. “I just thought parties like this would be a little…rustic for your taste.” 

“True,” she said. “I retired hours ago; it’s well past midnight. But…but I have decided I need to speak to you.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Now?” 

“Yes.” 

Katria stood and took a few steps away from the table. Kate waved her across the room to the door. “Let’s get some fresh air. This room is smelling entirely too…Ferelden for my taste.” 

Katria resisted the urge to roll her eyes and followed her sister out onto the battlements. The cool air did feel nice against her flushed skin. She leaned against the stone wall as Kate stood straight beside her. 

“I want to congratulate you,” Kate said. “For your defeat of Corypheus.” 

“Thanks.”

Katria looked down at her folded hands on the wall, knowing she was making things awkward with her clipped tone. She glanced over at her sister, the moonlight cast across her face. She was so beautiful—Katria had been jealous of it once. 

“Is there anything else you wanted?” 

Kate took a small step towards her, so they were standing side by side. “You’ve thought about what comes next, haven’t you?” 

Katria put her hand against her temple and sighed. Her stomach felt a little queasy from all the cake she had consumed. “There’s—it’s a lot. I’d rather not think of it now.” 

“Well, the Montford’s will remain steadfast allies of the Inquisition,” she said. 

Katria frowned slightly. “Am I supposed to think that’s a good thing? As if I should believe that you wouldn’t betray us for your own benefit?” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Kate replied. 

“You _have_ done that,” she shot back. “How can I trust you?”

“Because we’re family.” 

Katria gave a sharp exhale through her nose and turned away. “That didn’t matter to you before.” 

“It does now,” she replied simply, then paused. “I’ve…got something for you.” 

Kate knelt down beside her and picked up a shield that she had left leaning on the battlements. She offered it to her sister with both hands. 

Katria hesitantly reached out, her fingers brushing the grooved metal, the intricate, but faded, design carved into the front of it. It was the Trevelyan family crest, the one that had hung above their mantle in Ostwick. 

“I thought you sold everything at the estate,” Katria remarked. 

“Almost everything,” Kate said, looking down at it herself. “I could not bring myself to part with this though. It’s been passed down for generations. Even though I attempted to consider myself something greater than a Trevelyan...well, I wanted to keep it.” She thrust it closer to her. “Now I want you to have it.” 

Katria curled her hands around the metal edges, her brow furrowed. “Why?” 

Kate shifted, folding her hands primly in front of her stomach. Her rigid posture was a contrast to the uncertain expression on her face. “I know Father was insistent that you were not a true Trevelyan. That you didn’t belong in our family. But…” She cleared her throat. “But he was wrong. You _are_ a Trevelyan, and we are sisters. If there is anyone that is ‘modest in temper, and bold in deed,’ it’s you.” 

Katria looked up at her. “Why should being a Trevelyan matter to me now?” 

“It probably shouldn’t,” Kate replied. “Not after…what happened to you as a child. But it’s not about the fact that it’s a noble name. You come from somewhere. We’re linked together whether you like it or not.” 

Katria continued to study her sister’s face, seeing a sincerity there that hadn’t been present for a long time. She had so much hatred for Kate concentrated in her gut—it had been fossilized, like some old relic, a part of her for ten years. Her sister betrayed her and ruined her life, sent a noble-born young woman into the depths of abject poverty for her own political gain. 

Did it matter that she was trying to make things right? Was it that simple, to just pretend they were a family once again? 

Kate spoke in the silence. “You have…a few qualities I admire. Things that I look up to you for.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” she grumbled. 

Kate smiled sadly. “You always see the best in people. I’ve watched you judge some vile criminals, and yet you still find some good in them. It scares me.” 

“Why does it scare you?” Katria asked. 

Kate dropped her hands to her side, clenching and unclenching her fists. She swallowed thickly. “It scares me because you can’t seem to find any good in _me_.”

The shield in her hands dropped a little lower. “I…” 

Her sister took a deep breath. “I want there to be good in me. I’m trying to find it.” 

Katria clenched her jaw tightly; there was certainly a lot of _bad_ in her sister. She was manipulative, condescending, and selfish—but couldn’t those words have described her once, too? Her face softened. “I see it, Kate,” she said. She drummed her fingers against the shield. “It just takes time.” 

“Like I said, I intend to help the Inquisition for as long as I can,” Kate replied, a smile threatening to spread across her reddened lips. 

Katria tucked the shield under her arm. “Well, I look forward to your future visits to Skyhold.” 

Her sister folded her hands back together. “Thank you. Good night, Katria.” 

“Good night, Kate.” 

Kate glided past her back to Solas’ study. Katria stayed outside and leaned with a sigh against the battlements. She glanced at the shield again. Modest in temper, bold in deed was certainly a very nice, noble way to describe her personality. 

Katria returned to the Great Hall, moving unnoticed through the shadows and up to her room. She was exhausted again—it was the depth of emotion she’d been feeling lately that had tired her the most. In her quarters, she inspected her fireplace and the slowly burning embers that did nothing to protect her from the cold wind whipping in through her windows. She restarted the fire and dragged her chair from her desk to the front of the hearth. Just as she stepped onto it, someone came into the room. 

“You managed to slip away,” Cullen remarked. 

Katria hopped off the chair and lifted up the shield. “Could you help me with this? I’m not tall enough.” 

“Of course, Kat.” 

With his added height, he was able to hang the crest centered over the mantle. She watched him do it, her stomach churning out some odd emotion as the metal glinted in the bluish moonlight. 

Cullen stepped back and looked up at it with her. “Where did you get this?” 

“From my sister.” 

His brow rose. “Really?” 

Katria nodded. “It’s the Trevelyan family crest. It once hung over the fireplace in my father’s estate in Ostwick. Fredrick and I often read or played chess right below it. I spent a lot of time staring at the damn thing because all I wanted was to…belong.” 

He shifted. “So are you and your sister…?” 

“It’s a process,” Katria said, reaching up to run her fingers along her braid. 

Cullen put his hand on her waist. “You’re a remarkable woman, you know.” 

She smiled slightly. “Haven’t you complimented me enough today?” 

“No,” he replied, then tilted her chin up with his finger to kiss her.

Katria put her hand against his breastplate, feeling the cold metal against her palm. His armor expanded as he took a breath and separated from her. 

“Battle’s over,” he said softly. “There will be a new Divine…” He looked at her like she was the single most important thing in the universe, and it made her smile. “I don’t care about anything other than you being alive.” 

Katria leaned in close to him. “So I don’t suppose you’d _care_ if we took off that coat of yours and burned it?” 

“I rather think you’re secretly jealous of it, Inquisitor,” he replied, then captured her in his arms and nuzzled her neck, his lips making a line from her jaw downwards. 

She squirmed and giggled against him. “Cullen, quit it!” 

He stopped with a grumble and rested his chin on her shoulder. She felt his head tilt slightly. 

“What’s that?” 

Cullen released her and reached for a letter laying on the chess set. She turned and took it before he could. His name was written on the front. 

“It’s…” Katria fiddled with the parchment. “It’s nothing. Just a stupid letter.” 

“For me?” 

She shrugged. “Yes, I wrote in case—well, you know. In case I died out there. I was too scared to tell you about it, so I left it out, so you’d see it.” 

Cullen reached out and touched her face, studying her, like he was reminding himself she came back. Katria looked away from him and then tossed the letter into the fire. 

“Not much use for it now.” 

He dropped his hand. “I would have liked to read it—why did you burn it?” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, well…thinking about it now, I’m afraid some of the jokes I had in there didn’t land, so…” 

“Ah.” 

She’d burned it because it was heartfelt. And terrifying. She’d written him embarrassing, ludicrous, selfish things—what she envisioned their children would be named, how he’d probably still be so handsome even when he was older, what sort of pets she thought they should have. Those letters were supposed to encourage loved ones to move on, to continue to search for happiness, and instead Katria had dumped all her hidden fantasies on a paper he would read once she died. And then of course there was the problem that she didn’t know if what she wrote was even truly what she wanted—Katria had written it because she knew that’s what he would want to hear. 

“I thought things might be less complicated once you defeated Corypheus,” Cullen remarked. 

“Me too,” she said, sighing. “I should have known better. I’m still the Inquisitor.” 

He put his arm back on her waist and faced her. “Katria, I don’t know what happens after this, but I swear to you that I will never let anything come between us. I want to be with you for—for the rest of my life.”

She nestled her head against his neck. “What if I quit my job and move out into the forest again?” 

“I’d follow you.” 

Katria chuckled and slid from his grasp. “Like you would last a week, Chantry boy.” She saw orange light spilling onto the floor in front of her and looked past her doors to see the sun beginning to rise over the mountains. It had been a long night. 

Katria walked out to her balcony and rested her elbows on the railing. Cullen mimicked her pose beside her, their shoulders touching. 

“You…aren’t planning on leaving, are you?” he asked after a few moments. 

She took his hand. “Never, Cullen.” 

He leaned over and kissed her, pinning her back against the railing with his hands on her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his mouth. 

Cullen pulled away. “I—I’m sorry. I am just glad you said that.” 

Katria rested her forehead against his breastplate. “You should have known that already, my prince,” she said, her voice muffled. “I am _so_ bad at this.” 

His fingers traced lines through her loosened braid. “You’re not.” 

She sighed. “Oh, who are you kidding, Cullen? I have the emotional competency of a…a nug.” 

“I am never kidding.” 

Katria lifted her head to look at the serious expression on his face, before he smiled at her. 

“What was that?” she asked, giggling. 

Cullen stepped back, squeezing her hands before letting go. “I can make jokes, too, you know. It’s called dry humor.”

Katria reached up and rubbed her arm with her other hand. She leaned against the railing in silence, and after a few moments, turned to look back out at the mountains. 

“Why did you pick unbreakable?” she asked eventually. 

He swallowed. “It was silly. I was just-,” 

“It’s not silly,” she said. “I want to hear why.” 

Cullen glanced over at her—his eyes were enough to make her heart flutter. “You always keep pushing. The worst, most unimaginable things have happened to you, and you never broke. You never gave up.” 

“But I left,” she said in a quiet voice. 

“You came back,” he said. “I never said you didn’t falter, or get knocked down, or even think about quitting. The world turns a lot of people cold and angry, and even though you’ve been forced to endure many things, you aren’t. You are strong and kind and good.” 

Katria opened her mouth to reply, but instead felt him put a gloved finger to her lips. 

“Don’t make a joke,” he said. “Or a disparaging comment. You are unequivocally all of those things, and it is very important to me that you know this.” He moved his hand to her cheek. “You believe me, don’t you? You see it?” 

Katria breathed out slowly through her clenched teeth. “I believe you,” she said, and she meant it.

Her eyes were glassy and filling with tears, she felt it, so she turned and rested her chin on her hand. It wasn’t fair that Cullen was so good at this, while her words slid through her fingers like sand. But if Cullen didn’t know how deeply she felt for him, she’d just have to try again. 

“Sometimes I think about the fact that if I would have died at the Conclave, not a single person would have noticed or cared,” she said. “I mean it. I had _no one_. And then—and now…” 

Katria shook her head. “I don’t know if I was chosen for this, but it was _hard_ , it was an endless cycle of blood and death and travel and pressure. Sometimes I felt as if it would crush me into dust.” Cullen was looking at her, and she tried to meet his gaze, but quickly looked away. “But this is what I got in return,” she said, flinging her arm out to the courtyard below them. “All this, my friends. You.” 

“So was it worth it?” he asked, running his hand along her back.

Katria leaned against him. “Yes,” she said. “Of course it was. I found you.” 

Cullen kissed the side of her head. “I love you, Kat.”

She ran her fingernails along the stone railing with a few nervous taps added in. “The kind of love where we…occupy the same space? Like the same…” She cleared her throat. “Bedroom area. General living quarters.”

Cullen grinned. “You want to move into my tower with me, don’t you?” 

Katria laughed and shoved him lightly. “I’d prefer to live somewhere a little more structurally sound.” 

“Your bed _is_ quite comfortable,” he said. 

“And my ceiling is intact, so that’s a bonus,” she added, then scratched her head, feeling her cheeks flush. “So, will you? Occupy this space…” She gestured backwards to her bedroom. “With me? All the time, as opposed to…some of the time.” 

“I would like that.” 

Katria beamed at him, and he put his arm around her. She curled up against his coat and took his other hand in hers. She had never felt more uncertain, but also _sure_ in her whole life. It was a confusing mix of emotions, which seemed like the trademark of everything that had happened to her since she was dumped out of the Fade. 

“It’s beautiful,” Cullen remarked, staring out past the snow-capped mountains, the wind ruffling stray pieces of his golden hair. 

Katria wasn’t looking out there. She’d seen landscapes like that all her life—she had climbed mountains in silence and solitude, sat in flowered meadows as the day waned, and they _were_ beautiful scenes. But her eyes drifted below that, to the courtyard of Skyhold, where tiny figures moved through the shadows cast by the rising sun. They laughed and were happy. This once deserted, decrepit castle was now a powerful, thriving community—it didn’t even matter that she was in charge of it. 

It mattered that for the first time in a long time, this was her home, and these people were her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one final chapter that takes place after the in-game events, so this is not goodbye, but I think it bears repeating many times: thank you to absolutely everyone who commented, kudo'd, read this piece--each and every interaction means a whole lot to me, and I am truly and infinitely grateful!


	58. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this really count as an epilogue? I don't know. I think of it more as a scene from our characters' futures where they're being total dorks. It’s silly and not terribly mushy or romantic, maybe. But at least they’re having fun now.

Despite the fact that the Inquisition was well-past the point of being at war with a darkspawn magister, Cullen’s office was still a mess—books remained stacked around the room, reports flooded his desk, and half the time his chair had so much junk on it, he could hardly sit. Katria did not mind the chaos because he was not nearly as messy in her—their—quarters. Mostly because he had so few possessions; his portion of the room consisted of one chest and his armor stand, which was always neatly arranged, while her belongings consisted of an inordinate amount of elegant ball gowns and tunics that still made her want to tear her hair out. 

Katria pushed open the door to his office with her shoulder because she was cradling some books she’d borrowed—books she hadn’t read and knew she was never _going_ to read. The room was quiet and empty. Cullen was gone, most likely to the barracks. He liked to make rounds after their morning meeting in the War Room. 

Katria walked over to his bookshelf and kicked aside some parchment that lay scattered on the floor. She would never understand how a man who was so meticulous about the cleaning and general care of his armor could leave his office in complete disarray. She began putting the books back, squeezing them into places they couldn’t fit into. Cullen would notice and probably be annoyed later. Katria shoved the last book onto the shelf; she applied so much force that the whole structure wobbled and some trinkets on a shelf above her tumbled off and went crashing to the ground. 

“Andraste’s-” She bent down and began gathering up what had fallen: a wooden mabari figurine made by Blackwall, a glass fox he was probably going to give to Bailey on her name day next week, some loose coins, and a small box. 

Katria paused to eye the box. It was smaller than her palm and made of wood. As she dropped the other things back on the shelf with one hand, she flipped it open with her finger. Laying inside was an expensive looking ring. She shut it with a squeak. 

What if the ring was for her? As in, Cullen was going to ask her to marry him? 

Katria opened the box back up and fished the ring out from where it hid on its side in the corner. Of _course_ that’s what it was. 

It had been almost six months since the Inquisition had defeated Corypheus. It had been six months since she and Cullen started occupying the same space—more than a year since they’d been together. 

Every time Josephine discussed their schedule for the year, she would make a comment about how simply _open_ the approaching summer months were for a lovely _ceremony_ and that if something important were to be _happening_ to the Inquisitor, she would need to know well in advance to plan said event. 

She had not pressed Cullen about the matter because she wanted him to take his time, to feel comfortable, to be really sure this is what he wanted. Before Corypheus was defeated, he talked about marriage, they decided on _eventually_ , but back then, time felt pressurized and fleeting—she did not know if she’d live, if any of them would live, so things like marriage spilled into their conversations without thought.

Katria figured that when the time came for Cullen to actually, physically begin the process of proposal, he’d been intimidated by it. _She_ was intimidated by the prospect. So when months passed and nothing was asked, she did not mind. They lived together, they were in love—why did marriage have to be a part of the equation?

Of course, that answer came quite quickly once they arrived three months ago at Empress Celene’s impressive banquet celebrating their victory. The nobles that were clamoring to bask in her glory were also clamoring to make more concrete alliances to the Inquisition. Namely, an alliance through marriage. Katria denied them all fully, of course, but Josephine had to craft reasons that were benign and inoffensive. It would be so much easier to turn down the offers, to fend off the flirtation, if she could point to her handsome, blonde Commander and call him her husband. The fact that they were already sleeping together did not have the same effect—they assumed the Inquisitor was simply in some dalliance with a Ferelden commoner. 

Katria worked up the courage to inspect the ring. It was an exquisite piece, truly, and quite the technical masterpiece. The silverite ring had polished nevarrite stones that encircled the entire band. No flashy gemstone sticking out to catch on something while she trained, no glitter, no fuss. Her throat tightened the more she thought about how perfect it was for her. Maker, she wished he’d just ask her already. 

Katria went to put the ring back in the box, but paused. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try it on. Just for a moment. 

Wearing it now, simply for a few seconds, would sate her if Cullen took even _more_ time to ask her. Katria slid the ring on her finger. It was a little small, so she had to jam it over her knuckle.

She immediately regretted that choice, of course. She admired the ring for all of two seconds before she realized that it wasn’t budging on her finger. It was much, _much_ smaller than she thought. Katria threw the box back onto the shelf and began trying to yank the ring off with more force. The sweat on her hands from her panic helped the ring move closer to her knuckle, but it still wouldn’t come off. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Katria hissed. She began dancing around his office, pulling desperately on the ring to no avail. 

Katria heard a voice outside. “I want a report on my desk in the next hour.” 

The door swung open, and Katria quickly crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her fingers in the crook of her elbow. 

“Cullen!” she exclaimed, smiling sheepishly. “Hi, hello. How’s it…you, good?” 

Cullen closed the door behind him and furrowed his brow. “Is everything alright?” 

Katria knew her face was bright red. She gave a nervous laugh. “I-I’m alright. Great. Really, totally fine. Everything is normal. I came to say hi to you. And I have. So.” 

He tried to move closer to her, but Katria took two steps backwards. “I should go, probably. Important things to do.”

Cullen rubbed his neck. “Ah, okay. I’ll see you tonight.” 

Katria laughed, but then stopped and cleared her throat because of how ridiculous she probably looked. “Yes! You will. Tonight.” She pushed the door open with her back, only turning once she was all the way through. When the door clicked shut, she uncrossed her arms and broke into a sprint. 

She had exited out the door that led to Solas’ former study and the library. Katria climbed the steps up the tower two at a time, until she spotted Dorian leafing through a book and grumbling to himself. 

“Dorian!” she practically shrieked, and he jumped and turned to her. “Dorian, I am in huge trouble. I…oh Maker, this is so bad. What am I going to do?” 

Dorian shut the book with an incredulous stare. “Speaking in complete sentences will do wonders for you.” 

Katria buried her face in both hands, then looked up at him and put her ringed finger in his face. “Look at this!” 

Dorian had to crane his neck back because her hand was so close to his face. His eyebrows rose. “So, he finally asked you, did he? I should thank him. He just won me a few coppers from Varric.” 

Katria groaned. “That’s the problem. He didn’t ask me,” she said. “I found the ring in his office, and I tried it on, and now it’s _stuck_. So I am going to need you to-,” 

Dorian burst out laughing. “He doesn’t know you have the ring?” 

She shook her head. “He came back to his office while I was trying to get it off.” She clutched his hands in hers. “Dorian, you have to help me. We have to get it off so that I can put it back before he notices that it’s gone.” 

Dorian looked down and inspected the ring. “You really shoved that thing on there, didn’t you? A little overeager for the proposal, I see. I can’t say I blame you. You’ve chosen to love a man who can’t string a sentence together without-,” 

“We have no time for wit,” Katria cut in, groaning in exasperation.

“There is _always_ time for wit,” he said. “Do have some patience, my dear.” Dorian looked around the library and sighed. “We should go to the kitchens. If we get some butter, maybe we can slide it off-”

Katria snatched her hands away. “Dorian, he could find out the ring is gone any minute.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You’re a mage, there has to be a quicker solution!” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, if you’re pressed for time, I’ll simply find a willing sacrifice and see if blood magic can’t solve this problem.” 

Katria sighed. “Oh, Maker, I am so-”

“Dorian! Might I have a word?” 

Katria spun around at the sound of a familiar voice. Cullen was standing behind her, cheeks burning red, tapping his fingers nervously against the pommel of his sword. Any words Katria thought to say died in her throat. She pinned her hands behind her back. 

“Yes, Commander, what can I help you with?” Dorian asked, smirking. 

“I would like to talk to you in private, if that’s alright,” he replied, looking at Katria, but quickly breaking from her gaze. 

“Is…everything alright?” she asked him. 

His face turned a further shade of scarlet. “Ah, yes, it’s nothing to worry about, Inquisitor. Katria. Kat.” 

“O-Oh good.” Katria cleared her throat in the awkward silence that followed. 

Dorian raised a finger. “One moment, Commander.” He grabbed Katria by her elbow and steered her further into his alcove. They kept their voices to frantic murmurs.

“He already knows its gone. Why did he come to _you_?” she hissed. 

“I helped him pick out the ring,” he whispered back. “I’m the only one who knows what it looks like.” 

Katria winced. “What am I going to do?” 

She snapped her fingers. “Wait—I’ve got it. You distract him, and I’ll…I’ll get the ring off, somehow. Just entertain him for half an hour. Talk about trebuchets.” 

Dorian grabbed her arm before she tried to scurry away. “One problem, my dear. He probably has the box with him now.” 

She waved her hand. “I’ll just put it on the shelf. You’ll say it fell out.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t just want-,” 

“Follow the plan,” she ordered in a harsh whisper. Katria spun on her heel and gave Cullen a polite smile, keeping her hands clasped behind her.

Dorian sauntered back over to the center of the tower where the wood railing stood. 

“Katria found your ring and she’s wearing it,” he announced. 

She flew around at the top of the stairs with her fists clenched. “ _Dorian_!”

“This is ridiculous,” Dorian said, throwing his hand up. “ _You two_ are ridiculous.” 

Cullen was standing close by, blushing so furiously his face almost looked purple. His wide eyes slid over to her. 

“How did…Why did you…”

Katria put her palm against her forehead, and then let out a choked laugh, before she muffled it with her fingers. She walked over to him and guiltily held out to her hand. 

He looked dumb-struck as his fingers curled around her own, his thumb caressing the navy blue stones around the band. 

“It was an accident,” Katria explained plaintively. “I found the ring in your office, and I loved it _so much_. I tried it on, and…it’s sort of stuck now.” 

“You like it,” he said under his breath. 

“I love it,” she insisted. “I-I really…” She trailed off and grabbed his face in both her hands, kissing him deeply instead of finishing her sentence. Cullen still seemed a little dazed, but wrapped his arms around her back, pressing his lips against hers. 

Dorian made an exasperated noise. “Stop, stop what you’re doing!” he said. “This can’t happen here.” 

He appeared between them and waved them apart with his hands. “You have to tell the story of your proposal for years, to hundreds of people—you’re the _Inquisitor_. And saying ‘I found the ring on accident, it got stuck on my finger, so I made out with Cullen in the library in front of a Tevinter and some really confused messengers’ is not going to cut it. You must relocate.” 

“Relocate?” Cullen asked incredulously, looking over with his hands still on her waist. “For Andraste’s sake, it’s not-,” 

They heard a voice from above them. “Dorian’s right, if Josephine finds out about this she will be very upset.” Leliana was leaning over the balcony of the floor above them, her chin rested in her hands. She waved and continued. “There are more romantic locations in Skyhold.” 

Katria rolled her eyes. “Why don’t we just tell people Cullen asked for my hand in marriage in the gardens?” 

“With a fruit basket,” Dorian added. 

“And tiny cakes!” Leliana shouted down to them before she disappeared from the balcony. 

Cullen shook his head. “This is ridiculous.” 

He looked back at her and cleared his throat. “I mean, I will tell that story if that is what you want. I can even _do_ that, if you _wish_. I just thought-,”

“No, Cullen.” Katria snorted. “In fact, please no. I like it the way it is now.” 

A small, nervous smile crept across his face, and he squeezed her waist. 

“So…does this mean, that is, will you marry me?” 

Katria beamed at him, grabbing a handful of his fur in her hand and pulling her mouth back against his. When he pulled away, she nodded. 

“Of course I will.” 

Cullen let out a loud sigh of relief, grinning sheepishly. Katria stepped away a little further and examined her hand. “Although I think I need to take this off now. My finger is starting to feel a little tingly. I’ll go to the kitchens and get some butter or something.” 

She took two steps, then threw a glare in Dorian’s direction. “Thanks for all your help, traitor.” 

He leaned against the railing with his legs crossed. “You’re welcome. I _did_ do you a favor. Do you have any idea how long this man has been hiding that ring? _Months_. Chickening out like a small child every time-,” 

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen interrupted loudly. 

Katria giggled and followed Cullen as he headed down the stairs. He stopped halfway, turning back to her and sighing. 

“I should tell you something about the ring.” 

Katria tilted her head curiously, while he climbed up the step between them. He squeezed her hand. “We haven’t spoken often about it, but as you know, I have no title outside the Inquisition, no land, and your sister and Josephine feared our…marriage could offend those who have already sent contracts to you.” 

She nodded. “I figured as much.” 

Cullen lifted his head. “Really?” 

“I was twenty-two when I left Ostwick,” she said. “It gave me plenty of time to get acquainted with that lifestyle, as much as I hated it. I know how they think.” Katria put her free hand on the side of his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “Which, of course, changes nothing. I will marry you and no one else.” 

He smiled slightly with sad eyes, running his thumb across her palm. “I know, Kat. I just thought I should tell you that—that your sister arranged for me to get the ring in Val Royeaux through a favor she was owed.” He broke from her gaze. “Josephine actually _agreed_ with her. I wanted to get something myself, but they said-,” 

“That the Inquisitor would need something worthy of her station?” Katria finished with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “Yes, Kate loves that phrase.” She sighed. “I understand their reasoning, I suppose.” 

“Does it upset you?” he asked. 

“No,” she said simply, lifting her hand to inspect the ring. “This is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She moved that hand to cup his cheek. “Did they at least let you chose it?” 

“Yes,” Cullen said, nodding. “Although it wasn’t that easy. I took Dorian along. He and the jeweler—Vauclain—insisted that you might like these other…hideous pieces. They were ridiculously extravagant; honestly, I don’t see why anyone would need to own a gemstone that large. And you wear gloves often and your fighting might be encumbered if-,” He stopped and blushed. “Well, you see my point.” 

“Yes,” Katria said, sliding down so they occupied the same step. “Very practical of you, Commander.” She leaned in close to him, her lips inches from his. Cullen set one hand on her waist and rested the other on the stair railing beside them, sliding his fingers along it as he pulled her into a slow, sweet kiss. Despite the thrumming in her finger, she was deliriously happy. 

Katria pulled away from him, tapping her fingers on his breastplate. “I like the ring,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me where it came from. I understand that things can’t be exactly the way we want them because I’m the Inquisitor.” 

Cullen smiled appreciatively at her, until his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry it doesn’t fit,” he said. “I feel like such a fool.” 

“Oh, Cullen.” Katria wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting one hand to drag her fingers through his hair. “I am so in love with you that even your mistakes are adorable and impossibly endearing, you beautiful, perfect prince of a man.” 

“Kat…” he muttered sheepishly, running his hand along her side, his face red from her praises. She pressed herself against him, and his arm tightened around her waist to keep them balanced. Her lips drifted to his neck, moving up towards his jaw, leaving a trail of his flushed skin behind her. He shivered under her touch, clenching his hands in her shirt. 

“We’re in a _stairwell_ ,” he hissed. 

Katria placed a kiss right under his ear before leaning back. “Good point.” She lifted her hand. “Although the better point might be that there’s no blood currently circulating through my finger.”

Cullen grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.” 

She didn’t move until she put a finger against his breastplate. “Alright, we get the ring off and _then_ I show you how glad I am you’ve asked me to marry you.” 

He grinned and yanked her against him, his hand sliding down her backside while his other rested on the railing of the stairs. 

“And _I_ will show you how glad I am you said yes.” 

===

Two months after Cullen’s proposal—or at least, Cullen and Katria’s general agreement after some fumbling to get married—her re-sized ring was delivered to Skyhold from Vauclain’s shop in Val Royeaux. Once Cullen received it, he sent a message along to Katria to meet him on the battlements. 

Cullen was climbing the stairs to her, fidgeting with the ring in his pocket. He felt like an idiot for being anxious again. She’d _already_ said yes. There was nothing to be concerned about. 

He reached the top of the battlements and saw Katria leaning against the wall, looking out at the mountains around her. She turned when he came closer, because she heard him, of course, and smiled. His heart skittered nervously in his chest when he met her gaze. She’d never be more beautiful to him than when she had that expression on her face. 

Her smile widened as her eyes fell to his chest, where he was wearing only a simple tunic. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “I’m looking for my future husband—perhaps you have seen him? He looks _similar_ to you, but he is _always_ wearing his armor in public. It has red and brown tones. Lots of fur. You can’t miss it.”

Cullen grinned and stopped in front of her. He reached down to grab her hand and brush his lips across her knuckles. “I apologize, my lady, but I have not seen him. However-,” He paused and ran his thumb across her bare fingers. “Any man who has not given you a token of betrothal is clearly not worthy to be your husband.” 

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “I understand your concern, but sadly, the date has been set, my dress altered, and the invitations sent, so I must marry _someone_ or my dear friend Josephine Montilyet will be very upset.” 

Cullen tightened his grip on her hand and stepped closer. “Well then, if I may be so bold my lady, I find myself utterly entranced by your beauty.” He pulled the ring from his pocket and slid it on her finger, trying to ignore the way his blood was pounding in his ears. “So perhaps you will consider marrying _me_.”

Katria dissolved into a fit of giggles before slinging her arms around his neck and passionately kissing him. Cullen caught her in his arms and pulled her as close as possible—he would never tire of the warmth he felt when her body was pressed to his. His hands spanned across her back as he pulled her onto her toes. She tilted her head and slid her tongue past his lips, making him groan. 

Even though they were on the battlements, Cullen held her as long as he damn well pleased, doubling his affection when he felt the cool metal of her ring against his neck as she clenched her fingers in his hair. He eventually pulled away from her, panting slightly. 

“How does it fit?” he asked. 

Katria’s brow creased for a moment before she perked up. “Oh, the ring!” She raised her hand, watching the stones glint in the sunlight. “It’s perfect.” 

“And you haven’t changed your mind?” 

“You haven’t gotten any less handsome, so no,” she said with a smirk. 

Cullen kissed her briefly again, and she ran her fingers along his shoulders. “I also love you tremendously, and I’m looking forward to calling you my husband.” She shook her head. “Although I could certainly do without the massive banquet being planned.” 

He grimaced at the thought—nothing could deter him from marrying her, but the nobles invited to their reception would decidedly _not_ conjure happy memories for him.

“I love you, too,” Cullen said, to placate his concerns. 

She looked sideways at the mountains, stained yellow and orange from the rays of the sinking sun cast across them. “Did you bring me out here to enhance my sense of romance?” 

He smiled slightly. “Is it working?” 

“It’s certainly thoughtful,” she replied. “The scenery is beautiful, this is where we first kissed…” She raised an eyebrow. “Who gave you the idea?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said smugly. 

“So, Cassandra?” 

“I believe she prefers Divine Victoria now.” 

She snorted. “The Chantry’s Divine can’t be a hopeless romantic and an avid reader of Varric’s smutty literature.” Her hands slid up to his face. “But, fine, my prince. I will give you credit for this arrangement. As if you needed to woo me further.” 

Cullen leaned closer to her and smiled. “I’d like to keep trying.” 

The door beside them swung open, and a messenger appeared. 

“Commander, here…” 

The young man only got one foot forward before he froze, inhaling sharply and flailing backwards. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammered. “I…” 

Cullen gave a low growl, balling the fabric of her shirt into his fist. Katria laid a soothing hand on his chest. “Come now, it wouldn’t be any alone time of ours if we weren’t interrupted.” 

She extricated herself from his grasp and reached out for the report. The trembling messenger practically threw it at her and fled in the opposite direction. 

“You really put the fear of the Maker in them, don’t you?” she asked, smirking. She walked back over to him and leaned against the battlements. 

“I don’t like being interrupted,” he grumbled. He unclenched his fists and peered over at the report. “What is that?” 

“An itemized list of everything I bought from the Black Emporium.” She lowered it slightly, so she could look at him. “Why did _you_ want this?” 

Cullen took the report from her, his stern, no-nonsense, Commander of the Inquisition expression returning to his face. “The prices were just outrageous,” he said, as he scanned the list. “For Andraste’s sake, _that_ much gold for a schematic for scout armor? Don’t you have one of those already?” 

“Xenon’s was _different_ ,” she said defensively. 

Cullen’s eyes slid down the report as he tutted, until he stopped, his jaw dropping slightly. 

“What in the Maker’s name is a _Chauncey_ and why did we spend that much gold on it?” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Katria began, clearing her throat nervously before snatching the report from his hand. “You know, my handsome, wonderful, kind prince, why don’t you-,”

“Katria,” he said sternly. “What is a Chauncey?” 

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the door flew open again. 

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. 

Bailey appeared, holding a small, white _bear_ across her chest, its paws dangling over her arms. She stopped and gave them a huge smile, hoisting the animal higher on her chest. “Look what arrived!”

Cullen felt his nostrils flaring when Katria gave him a guilty look. He assumed that this was the ‘Chauncey’ the Inquisition spent thousands of gold pieces acquiring. 

“You spent that much coin on a _tiny bear_?” he demanded exasperatedly. “I thought you hated bears!”

“I hate _Hinterlands_ bears,” she replied. “Chauncey is a precious gift from the Maker and-,” She clasped her hands together and sighed contently while looking at the bear, which made Cullen roll his eyes. “He’s just the most adorable animal in Thedas.” 

“It is still a bear, Katria,” Cullen said, crossing his arms. 

She gave a small pout and saddled up to him, running her fingers down his chest. “But, Cullen, it’s so cute and-,”

“No,” he said. “No _way_. You need to return it to Kirkwall, so we can get our money back and the Inquisition doesn’t go bankrupt.” An exaggeration on his part, but still, they wasted enough coin on dresses, curtains, fancy Orlesian food— _bears_ did not need to be another expense.

Katria leaned in closer to him and stroked his cheek. “Cullen.” 

“This is not working even a little,” he deadpanned. 

She huffed and fell back flat on her feet. She walked over to Bailey and held out her arms, accepting the bear like an infant child. Her fingers stroked the white fur between its ears as it wriggled in her arms. 

Katria gave a heavy sigh. “Alright, I guess we can…” She trailed off and snapped her neck around. 

“Bailey, _run_!”

The little girl squealed, and the two of them shot off across the battlements, cackling with laughter, Chauncey the bear bouncing in her arms. 

“Katria!” he called after her. “Katria, we are _not_ keeping the bear!” 

Cullen sighed and collapsed against the wall once she disappeared. He looked down at the report still in his hand and shook his head. As hard as he tried, he could not keep a small smile from tugging at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank ya'll for your wonderful support, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> PS: This *might* not be the end for these two dorks. I have some ideas waiting patiently in the wings, but they're a little different, and I don't want to bore anyone with my rambling! But perhaps be on the look-out, if ya'll wish to.
> 
> PSS: Update! For those who are interested, I have started a new story with Cullen and Katria. It's not a direct sequel and is instead an alternative take on the events in the romance. It's called "After We Fell Apart" and you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4028494/chapters/9057847)


	59. Sequel to Are We Having Fun Yet?

Hello everyone!

It's been almost one year since this story was first started, and now _Are We Having Fun Yet?_ has a sequel! 

Its title is _This Isn't My Idea of Fun_ , and you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5933827/chapters/13645861)! 

Here is the link, too, if you'd rather copy and paste: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5933827/chapters/13645861

Hope ya'll enjoy!


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